


Maybe We're Just Playing House

by pwrfckpwrcm



Category: The 1975 (Band)
Genre: Eventual Smut, F/M, M/M, Multi, Slow Build, Slow Burn, fan encounter, tags will change as updated
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-03
Updated: 2018-09-01
Packaged: 2018-09-21 12:39:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 30,684
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9549455
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pwrfckpwrcm/pseuds/pwrfckpwrcm
Summary: A party didn’t seem the appealing route to fix that but he couldn't find a way out so he got dressed and ventured out to have the opposite of a good time and be abandoned by Ross in a flash, only god knowing who he was under by now. But that smile…





	1. she sees through your eyes

Up until the moment when she's standing in front of him, George cannot say that he ever saw her completely. Best he can call it in hindsight is a montage, a highlight reel of her features that caught his attention. Dark golden skin, jet black curls that rivaled Matty's, longer that his but no less sentient. She had a laugh that rose above the din of the party and she floated between various clusters of partygoers.

Currently, she's dancing, and the sleeve of her black shirt slips off her shoulder. Pointed nails snap it back into place without missing a beat. This motion occurred with a disciplined precision but had a weary air about it. George imagined she gave that shirt a pep talk before each wear: “you have one job which is to stay up right. That’s all I ask.” And the shirt, like so many times before, let her down.

She squealed when the sleeve fell again but she ignored it as the opening notes of a song began playing. George knew it all too well as it was one he wrote and composed. The joy on the girl's face was palpable and he guessed it might be one of her favorites. She sang along between conversation with her...friends?

She hadn't stuck with one core group of people so far and he didn’t recognize any of them. If he did, he could convince one of them to give her his number. Hell, he didn’t know 90% of the people milling about the house and he couldn't spot the ones who dragged him out tonight. Not that it mattered, he didn't have the motivation to look for them if it means moving from his vantage point.

He lost her in the crowd until her shoulder, exposed once again by inadequate stitching, caught a stray gleam of light. He had never been so grateful for a shoddily made garment. He blamed the fourth beer nursed in his lap for that. The girl slips away once more, and George is too buzzed and a tiny bit wary to stand up and track her down.

He balances the beer between his thighs and removes his phone from his pocket. _Might as well do some half-hearted browsing until she comes back_ , he thinks when a ripple flows throw the crowd. The throng in front of him splits open at his feet to free her from it.

She turns her head away from whomever she was talking to with and executes a most subtle eyeroll behind her lashes. She scans the room over and beyond George's head until she lands on him and the oasis of empty space on the couch to the right of where he sat.

She hesitates to sit down, considering both the space and George for a moment. She points a finger and her full lips part to ask, “Is anyone...can I sit?" pointing at him.

"No. Y-Yes!" A few heads turn his way, his volume louder above the ambient instrumental now playing. "I mean, no to the first, yes to the second, sorry!” he gestures an invitation to join him.

She arced her eyebrow and tilted her head to the side, cascading thick black coils. She flashed George a disarming smile to express her gratitude and sat down next to him.

Not that George had armed himself before coming here or talking to her. At most, he had been reluctant to join the guys at this party. But Ross, ever resolute, pled his case “A post break-up bash! Take it from us, you need it, mate.” Once George agreed, Ross promised not to leave his side.

The “post” period Ross alluded to was coming up on a year. George thought himself on the mend, fallout lingered from ending things with Margo, a faint white scab healed over but still raw to the touch. Currently, he only hurt from the limited dating prospects.

How a party in the Hills could manage to fix that escaped George, but he already acquiesced, so he dressed. With his misery tucked away, he headed out to join Ross and Matty to have the opposite of a riotous time. Abandoned by Ross in a flash, only God knowing who he was under by now, George had been on the couch all night regretting many things but not having seen that smile…

George clears his throat to regain the composure that had deserted him upon hearing her voice that created little flurries in his belly and behind his ears.

If he were more cynical, he might have condemned that head tilt + look up through the lashes + smile as performance. A maliciously rehearsed and manipulative motion meant to beguile someone to her will or, with just a tweak of tone, make them feel like the center of her world.

For him, a slightly drunk man parked on a creaky couch who had been eyeing her for the better part of the night, he was firmly leaning towards the latter.

She sits, leaving a few inches to leave between them on the loveseat, in a fluid motion her legs crossed. Like sleight of hand, he had been watching, closely at that, but couldn't tell how it happened, they simply looped. Her dangling ankle rolled in circles, to relieve the stress of those platform shoes, he guessed.

 _Why am I still_ \-- He tore his eyes away to skylark on his phone as she unsnapped her purse, shuffling its contents and cursing under her breath at the elusive item she was searching for.

He turned back when he heard her thank the baby Jesus for the reassuring rattle of cigarettes in a carton, not as full as it once had been but blessedly not empty. She took a long dark cigarette out, holding it between her lips as she returned to the carton to the cavernous purse and resumed digging. This time for a lighter, George presumed.

Her lips creased into a hard line, crushing the filter as she swayed on the verge of dumping the whole thing out, when George dug into his denim jacket pocket and stretched out his hand, "Here." He meant for her to take it from him but in a split-second, thought better and spun the flint to light it for her. Seemed only proper after her ordeal.

A familiar smack of lips let him know his maneuver did not go unnoticed. Having lost track of Matty shortly after their arrival, it seemed divine fucking intervention that he would make his presence known at this precise moment.

He couldn’t bring himself to turn away from her to confirm Matty’s location, but as sure as Moses heard God through that bush, George heard Matty say, “…Gregory Peck motherfucker.”

George would pay him back for that later. For now, he hid his smile and focused on the perfect O of his couch companion’s lips. Her eyes softened, and that head tilted again to let it catch fire. She took a deep draw before exhaling a thick plume as she relaxed back against the arm of the couch.

"Thanks," she mumbled while rubbing her eye with her free hand and cursing, louder this time, at the black smudge on her finger. Her eye didn’t look any worse for wear in George’s opinion though his only familiarity with makeup was when Matty had a spell to slather it on a few years back.

He watched her thin tattooed wrist push and pull the black cigarette to her mouth a few more times. "Those aren't cloves, are they?" he asked innocently, receiving a curled frown of disgust as his answer. Truthfully, he hadn't recognized the carton, but more than that, he wanted her to speak again. The flurries were growing restless.

“These?" lifting her hand then shaking her head, "no, menthols, just wrapped in brown paper. Some fake ass fancy shit,” ending with a chuckle that George echoed. “They don't smell or taste too strongly, they might be lights? Really, I don’t smoke enough to know the difference. Fuck,” she shook her head, “Look at me going on like I’m pitching on Mad Men, here--”

She leaned towards him now with her hand stretched out. Between how much she had smoked down and the way she held the filter, George had no way to take it in his hand. He leaned forward and as good as kissed her fingers to secure it between his lips.

From a different direction, those familiar lips smacked again, accompanied by a scoff of contemptuous incredulity. Up that close, he got a whiff of her perfume and a closer eye on the tattoo on her wrist, noting the radial pulse pounding in contrast to her nonchalant demeanor.

Fuck, he liked this girl. Liked her before ever talking to her, but he didn’t want to dive in the deep end just yet. _Dial it back_ , George commanded as the smoke filled his lungs, _and give yourself a fucking break_.

And damn if she described them to a T. They were extremely light with only the faintest mint flavor, but the hint made itself count. He took one more drag before taking it out of his mouth and handing it back to her. "No, you're good,” she refused, “consider it payback for the couch and the light."

Nodding his thanks to her, he closed his eyes, mimicked her posture, and inhaled deep. He imagined sharing another cigarette or something stronger, on an isolated beach at night below a starless sky, her leaning into him for warmth--

“Do you know anyone here?” she asked, bringing him back to reality. “Hm? Not off top, I came here with a couple of guys, but they ran off as soon as we crossed the door. I kind of got dragged here if I’m honest.”

“Oh. Well. I’m glad you’re here, if that counts for anything.” It counted a great deal, George silently confirmed.

“I imagine,” she paused to light herself another, and fixed her face into deep thought, “if you weren’t here, I’d be trapped on this couch with my ear being talked off by that guy.” Pointing her cigarette to a far corner, George followed her trail and almost fumbled his beer and cigarette into his lap when he burst out laughing.

Ross was dead center in her crosshairs, holding a whiskey glass, in a turtleneck for fuck’s sake, regaling some other girls with a story about who knew what. Where was the fuck was Matty to call Ross the Ron Burgundy to his Gregory Peck? The crowd had thinned compared to when she escaped from it and was now making it easier for Ross to shrewdly scan the room. George assumed he was looking for the girl sat next to him.

And this bird, whoever she was, was not a fan of Ross.

George took a moment to collect himself, placing his near empty beer bottle on the side table and announced, “Oh him? That’s one of my friends, well...more than friend, we’re in a band together. That’s Ross.”

“Is that so,” she acknowledged flatly and did not look the least bit bothered that was she was talking shit about a guy to one of his friends. “Well, if that’s the case, and you’re really his friend, tell him his act is… He has that rugged older bar fly vibe, the kind you find at a ski lodge or a water-front hotel, scheming on the snow and beach bunnies. He's too young for that. Set this look aside for now; revisit it in about 15 years. Although,” the girl raised her eyebrows upward approvingly, “The turtleneck _does_ work for him.”

the warmed honey timbre of her voice coated her barbed assessment of Ross. If George had not been listening so closely, he could almost believe she spoke with fondness for Ross, as though she had Ross' best interest at heart.

George could not find fault in her argument. “It’s a shame you seem to not like him, he would be overjoyed to hear that bit about his turtleneck from an ‘unbiased outside source,’” George mimed air quotes to further mock Ross and laughed.

“He would flat out dismiss the rest though. My other friend and bandmate,” pointing to Matty who stood across from Ross, “that surly little tombstone flower, he and I have tried telling him so for weeks. It does age him but doesn’t believe us. And he really has no reason to since he has been getting a lot of--”

George noticed then that she stopped listening and was intently staring at the surly flower, blinking slowly. Her head tilted, unnaturally and unpracticed this time, beguiled, instead of beguiling, by something on the edge of her mind but just out of reach.

He could tell she didn’t like not knowing something, detested it, and assumed she hated for an answer dropped in her lap even more, so he let her simmer. But he knew what she soon would realize, and he collected himself, internally raising his previously lowered guard.

“I’ve seen him before ‘m’ something? Mark…no. Oh, Matty! Something…” she wound her wrist beckoning the name to her from ether. As cute as her contemplative face was, George could not take it anymore, compelled by the need to relieve her of this quandary.

“Healy,” George finished, “That’s Matty Healy.”

She snapped and pointed at George, eyes glittering and exclaimed, “YES!” immediately followed by “No!”

A bouquet of fucks, whose pronunciation was captivatingly poetic to him, fell from her mouth as she reached across him to extinguish her cigarette. She retreated to the arm of the loveseat, fumbling with her hair, and searching the room, newly skittish. A degree of color drained from her face, but she still radiated in George’s eyes.

George regretted his insistence on solving the mystery for her, damning his glee and attraction now that she fidgeted with a mild distress by something he did. He had to make amends, searching for his most reassuring tone, and asked slowly, “Are you ok?” 

She touched near her eye then shook her head, pushing up nothing then uttered, “No wonder. You aren’t wearing your glasses, girl,” to herself. A distance as inviting as cold concrete replaced the warmth of her voice. She looked at him sideways, squinting her eyes before putting on a convincingly brave face, “Um, yes, I'm fine. I will be. Just a little…surprised is all."

George shook his head, pondering their impasse. He had his suspicions earlier, that tattoo, her response to some music earlier in the evening, and placed his bet. It could go several ways, if nothing else, this was a strange encounter with an enchanting woman and with time, they could each put their spin on it to retell it in the future.

First, though, George unlocked his phone, seeing it was about 2AM, and set an alarm for noon with the following note:

* * *

1\. Punch yourself in your stupid face  
   
2\. Wake Matty the fuck up  
   
3\. Have him punch you in your stupid face

* * *

He would need this reminder, this preemptive comeuppance, because he would have to pay dearly for the next words out of his mouth:

_**“Do you know who I am?”** _


	2. between us i need you to see me

Eva’s shriek turned a few heads from nearby cafe tables in their direction. Roslyn expected a reaction from her friend but she was in rare form. Eva had one hand on her chest, the other furiously fanning her face, all that was missing was a handkerchief or a fainting couch to complete the scene. “Damn! I wish I had gone last night! _I_ would have recognized him, how did you not?”

“For the…I don’t even know how many-th time, I didn’t have my glasses on! And even if I did, it’s an old prescription, I haven’t found an optometrist here yet. I can barely wear them to study.” Roslyn averted her eyes from Eva’s contemptuous gaze. In time, she was sure she’d find her obliviousness hilarious but for now, her face was flushing crimson recalling the party.

“Secondly, it was dark and everyone smoking, blunts, one of those vape trick assholes and so on. Maybe it dried my eyes out or something. It only clicked after I saw Matty and even then, it was more like a recognition by association, you know. If Matty was there, of course George would be...or something.”

“God! As mad as you were about them,” Eva rolled her eyes, “I am struggling to believe...no! I am not believing you on the grounds that you don’t sound like you even believe yourself. You were obsessed!”

Roslyn recoiled, “A bit strong that, _obsessed_.” Roslyn’s lip curled at the word, “I didn’t hack their pre-fame social media or get a photo of me with them printed on Zazzle or fuck their opener act so to get info on their whereabouts or any other creepy shit. That’s _obsessed_.” Eva nodded in agreement, “ok, I’ll take that back, you know what I really meant.”

Roslyn finished with a shrug, “I just went to a lot of their shows in a year and let me remind you this year was like four years ago? I’ve cooled off a bit since then.” Roslyn picked at her eggs and her mind brought back a long-buried memory. “Although, one time...I did end up staying at the same hotel as them.”  

Eva’s eyes widened and Roslyn raised her hand to stop the incoming chorus of squeals, the gesture giving her the effect of testifying on the stand. “There were two hotels, not even a minute walk to the venue. Seemed likely they’d stay there and not clear across town, right? However, I didn’t know we were in the same one until I saw the photographer in the lobby checking out and the bus outside. And even then, I still didn’t see _them_ until they were on stage hours later. That was as close as I ever got.”

Eva’s body language displayed defeat as she huffed, “Four years or no, there was a time you could spot George from a mile away.” Roslyn squinted her eyes at Eva and said with a laugh, “I wasn’t that bad, was I? Did I mention he didn’t look exactly like he did back then? He looked older, not in a bad way, mind you. Just lost some of that last lingering boyishness in the face and overall a little more...” trailing off as the word escaped her. She was remembering his face more clearly; just how dark and intense his eyes were.

“Mature?” Eva offered. Roslyn snapped her fingers, “Yes! God, I don’t know why I just blanked on that,” thanking her.

“You were, as the kids used to say _shook_ ,” Eva cackled. Roslyn ignored that remark, “Anyway, yes, mature. More refined and put together. In my mind, he was still goofy, cute, young, you know.”

“Ok, when you put it like that, I’ll give you some wiggle room. So... how was he? What did he smell like? Did you talk?”

“Smelled...what? All I could smell was weed. I didn’t inspect him, Eva. And yeah, we...wait no. Not really?” She thought for a moment, “I asked to sit--”

“On his face? Bold!” Eva interrupted then clammed up at the chastising look Roslyn gave her.

“--On. The. Couch. Thanked him for making room for me. He lit my cigarette then I gave it to him...well he more took it from me, --”

“How did he do that?” Eva leaned in and Roslyn’s fingertips tingled, “with his mouth, he leaned over put his lips on the filter, kind of kissing my fingers as he pulled it away. It was…I almost melted at that.”

“Damn. No one would blame you but I’m sure you were fine,” Eva offered.

“Yeah, I was so cool because every day I share a cigarette with George Daniel? I was dying inside from, at the time, a regular hot dude pulling a smooth move on me. Let’s see what else...oh! Fuck. I talked shit about his “friend” who I also didn’t recognize who turned out to be Ross.”

 “Wait, Ross...in the band Ross? Ok, yes, we are going to find you an eye doctor this week,” Eva whined, “Now I am really upset I wasn’t there!” Roslyn believed her, Eva never got into their music back then but she always asked Roslyn how Ross was looking. “How was he? How was his hair?”

 “Yeah, that Ross, he is quite handsome but kind of annoying, last night anyway. Hovering, and dressed kind of pretentiously. He tried chatting me up but I wasn’t in the right space for that. And not just me, he was up on a lot of girls there but he kept making the rounds back to me. Had he been more chill, I might have given him a chance. But also, I guess if he had been, I wouldn’t have sat next to George? I don’t know. Either way, at the time, I was just roasting some random guy at a party, like anyone does.” 

Eva tried to sooth Roslyn who wore her confusion on her face, “I’m sure whatever you said about Ross wasn’t that bad.” 

Roslyn hailed the waiter for the check and began rooting for her wallet. While she was bold last night, she was cringing recalling her words the morning. “No, God I was rude as fuck. I said he looked--” Roslyn’s hand landed on something small, metallic, and cold. 

“Shit. I still have his lighter,” laying it out on the table between their plates. “George’s lighter?” Eva cooed as he picked it up, “well, see, this is a sign!” 

“That,” Roslyn pointed accusingly at the lighter, “is evidence that I’m a goofball. So, after he asked me if I knew who he was--and truly, he looked pained to ask--I nodded then sat still as stone for what felt like age before Maria happened by. I latched onto her and scampered, literally scampered, away from him. I must have still had it in my hand as I meekly waved bye.” 

“Psh, goofball or no, it’s a sign. Either you’ll find him or he’ll find you,” Eva leaned across the table to return it to Roslyn, “Really, you should try to look him up.” 

“Um, how am I meant to do that? I barely found my way to this cafe but according you, I am equipped to navigate this city and find the drummer from one of my favorite bands? I’ll go door-to-door or start with our waiter? Excuse me. Garçon?!” Roslyn waved emphatically at the retreating waiter’s back. 

“Shut up. I don’t think you’ll let a little thing like being in a big, unknown city get in your way,” Eva replied, “You can be a smart ass if you want but I have faith in you. However it will happen, you’ll see him again!” 

They paid for the check and said their goodbyes. Eva’s parting command to Roslyn was “find him.” 

Roslyn’s mind roamed on her walk back to her apartment, absently playing with George’s light that she now noticed had a worn out engraving on it. It’s not some gas station light, Roslyn thought, he will definitely want this back. She put it back in purse and pulled out her keys just as she reached her apartment door. Even though she now had a genuine reason to return it, she was comforted by the unlikely odds of handing it to George himself. 

She made a mental note to find the record label’s address and almost tripped over Mosey when making her way to kitchen table to grab her laptop. As much as she loved Mosey, the cat equally loved blending in seamlessly with the black living room rug. Roslyn scooped up Mosey as she sat on couch, nuzzling Mosey’s scruff.

“He’s likely busy recording or enjoying his time off tour or whatever guys in bands do?” she relayed to Mosey, who meowed lowly in response. “I have my studies, you, this new city and…. I don’t know anything about him as a person. Plus, he’s probably dating someone and was turned off by my rudeness about Ross. There’s just too much, Mosey, it’s not in my favor or interest.” Mosey, turned off by Roslyn’s resignation, leapt from Roslyn’s lap, finding warmth in a beam of early afternoon sunlight. 

Roslyn powered on her laptop, first googling the label’s office then gathered her books to study, hoping the bland figures and theory would snuff out the slight tinge of hope in her chest.

 

* * *

 

_zzz zzz zzz_

_zzz zzz zzz_

_zzz zzz zzz_

George waved his arm wildly in the general direction of his phone on the night stand, knocking it off where it continued vibrating on the floor. He hadn’t opened his eyes yet the dull pound in front of his skull was already disorienting and the repetitive buzz for the next hour would only drive him mad. The most he could manage was leaning over the edge to retrieve it, the flashing screen prying open his shut eyelids.  

George was confused by the words on the alarm telling him to punch himself, he returned to the bed lying on his back and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Why did I—,” George started but the evenings events came flooding back. The couch, her hair, and her rich skin and voice came rushing back followed quickly by a wave of shame.

The weight of being the world’s biggest jackass sat heavy and fresh on his chest. He battled himself, bouncing between reasoning that asking was the only way to be sure and wishing he’d let it linger.

George felt terrible enough and didn’t yet know if Matty heard him. Maybe if he had been less enamored of her… a smile blossomed on the edge of his mouth. “Worth it,” he whispered to his empty messy room. George thought he would gladly embarrass himself with haste if it meant he could bask in her presence again. How that would happen was a mystery to him, since her escape left him unable to catch her name.

Now that he was more awake and in better mood with her on his mind, he didn’t punch himself in the face as instructed but Matty would do his bit just fine. He made his way towards Matty’s room, gently parting the door to see if he was awake, the skinny man surprisingly sprawled out over a large portion of his bed. George sat on the bed’s edge, his weight sinking the mattress and shifting Matty out of his sleeping position. He drew one finger along the back of Matty’s leg which flinched from the sensation, “Matty, wake up.”  

“No. Don’t wanna,” Matty replied muffled in his pillow before turning to his side, putting his foot up against George’s thigh and weakly pushed him away, “off, fu- off.” 

George took this prime opportunity to tickle Matty’s foot who jerked it way and wiping from his eyes with a whine. Though his face was lax, his voice was as venomous as ever “Fucking what, George” 

“Don’t give me that,” George let go of Matty’s foot, “I need your help. I... need you to punch me.” 

“Oh,” Matty exclaimed, all venom rapidly dissipated, “Is this about the bird from last night?” Matty sat up, his face stretched wide around a grin. He tucked his chin into his chest and deepened his voice to mimic George, _“Do you know who I am?”_ and broke into a fit of giggles. 

George shut his eyes and sighed deeply. “How? How are you always around? And why? I’m fond of you but I think it’s time I put a bell on you. Sneaky twat.” 

Matty straightened himself up and held his hand “ _Can I light that for the lady? I’m George, can I call on you to catch a picture show this week’s end?_ Of course, I heard you! You were watching her like a hawk while she was dancing. I got myself a prime spot once she sat down. I had to see what my Georgie would do.” Matty relaxed against the headboard and George climbed over and laid next to him. 

“It wasn’t like I was going to lay my jacket in a puddle for her to walk on or anything. And what do you know about Gregory Peck?” George punched him playfully in his arm. 

“I know enough. You were in rare form last night. What’s she like?” Matty asked, drawing his knees to his chest to listen intently to George. 

“She was uh I don’t want to say _cool_ , that’s not fair or accurate. A disservice to her really. There was something alluring and dark, miles below the surface.” 

Matty could see George drifting off at the memory of her while he remained cautiously on the shore. “Yeah she was pretty distinct. I’m happy to see you like this.” “Like what?” George asked, unaware of the glint in his eyes. 

“I don’t know. just…into someone and optimistic. And really, one so different from Mar--.” George shot him a dark look and Matty knew better than to fully name George’s ex. “Moving on! Did you get her number? And why did she like skedaddle? She was in a big damn hurry to get away from you.” 

George winced visibly. He can’t imagine a time in where he will be able to recall this moment without a full body shudder. “She knew who we were and had the tattoo. She seemed to be a big fan of us and, also I guess, embarrassed of that fact.” 

“Oh! Really?” Matty’s face fell then recovered, clearing his throat, “So, she didn’t want to hang after that, huh?” 

“No. God, I feel like my heart stops when I think about it. Only complete assholes ask, “do you know” question? Anyway, she was ok with me up until she spotted you? I don’t think she said anything else to me then her friend walked by and she was gone. It was like I had the plague or something.” 

Matty shifted uneasily and George caught it this time, “Is there a problem?” 

Matty paused to form his words carefully, aiming for the balance between being cautious and elated for George, who really did deserve something good in his life lately. Matty finally spoke “George, we…can’t really fuck around with fans, not anymore. This isn’t the early days.” 

George’s blank stare of numb shock told Matty his attempt to be tactful failed spectacularly and he tried to backtrack. 

“Look, I am happy for you, truly. To see you so excited about someone new after everything with M—her. You’ve been a fucking wreck if I’m honest but don’t just jump in the deep end. Don’t do something stupid or unsafe. We are a bit beyond that now.” 

George was bewildered and let the words hang suspended while he tried to find the core of Matty’s argument, which George had to assume was genuine concern. Though it was debatable if the concern was for George or Matty’s idea what is proper. How Matty, a man with a mountain of barely distinguishable, though lovely, models under his belt didn’t choke on his own words was something. No matter, that was an argument for a later date, George latched onto the concern, letting the subtext of the rest of Matty’s statement wither and die. 

“Right. I’m…did that sound ok to you? Never mind, I’m going to give you the benefit that your heart is in the right place, though a few miles off. I do not ever want to have anything like Kelly again. I still can’t grapple with how fucked up all of that was. Believe me, if I had even half a hint of that from her, I wouldn’t be in here. And I’m grateful that you lot were worried about me. I really let myself lean into the wallowing. I’m ready to put all that behind.” 

Matty’s expression softened and nodded. Those early days taught him some lessons that he didn’t want the guys to fall prey too. Everyone wanting to be your friend, throwing themselves at you, getting under your skin. He was overly protective of himself and couldn’t help but extend that to his mates. However, George was making sense and he shouldn’t have doubted his intent. “You’re right. Fuck me, I’m sorry. I didn’t really think that out, really. Sorry.” 

George took the edge off of his voice, “I’m not going to pretend that what you just said wasn’t fucked up. I-I trust you more than any one and I think you know me in that I’m not impetuous. If anything, I think the fact that I’m so high on her has given me all the reason to be more careful. I don’t want it to burn out for me or blowback on us. Besides I don’t even know her name! Or how to find her or whose house we were at? This is just me fancying a girl at arm’s length. All hypothetical. Ok?” 

Matty couldn’t argue with that, “ok. Right then, tell me about her.”   

George described animatedly, mimicking her laugh and how she held the cigarette, making Matty laugh. 

“But the best part? She might hate Ross,” George laughed loudly but Matty was lost. “How, what? Why did she do that? How is that good?” 

George collected himself, “I guess he was bugging her during the party. If you’d bother to scan the room instead of focusing on me, you might have noticed that. She started with the turtleneck and made quick work of the rest. And it wasn’t mean! She’d actually said most of the stuff we’d been trying to tell him for years. It was amazing.”  

“Oh god, ok, yes, I like this girl already. She sounds wise. Maybe we can get her in on Ross’ intervention. It’s fucking July, enough with the ‘necks!” George and Matty were both giggling now when a deep voice interrupted them. 

“What was said about me?” Ross filled the doorway, his evening companion peaking over his broad shoulders. 

George cleared his throat, “We were uh, just talking about that girl I was sitting with last night,” wiping a tear from his eye. 

Ross looked surprised, “did you talk to her, did she say anything about me? Do you know who she is?” 

George and Matty looked at each other the burst out laughing again. George was out of breath when he spoke again, “Not a full-on conversation mostly about her cigarettes. She said…things about you, you won’t want to hear them. And no, I have no idea who she is but I want to.” 

Ross was not pleased to hear this report but had to save face, “I’m sure I could handle whatever was said.” 

“She highly recommends you fuck off with the turtlenecks,” Matty sputtered while chuckling. 

Ross rolled his eyes at the pair, “Yeah, that’s exactly what “she” said. Anyway I--,” a small voice from behind Ross cut him off, “Are you talking about Rosie?” 

All laughter subsided, “who’s Rosie?” George responded. 

The girl peeked under Ross’ arm, “You were sitting down next to her for a bit last night, right?” George nodded. “That’s Rosie, or Roslyn, or Roz, she tells you what to call her. She’s in one of my classes or maybe a campus group, I don’t know but I’ve seen her around.” 

George’s eyes went wide, “Could you give her my number or give me he number?” he asked enthusiastically. George searched the room for his phone forgetting he didn’t bring it to Matty’s room. “Hang on, one second, ok?” 

George disappeared down the hallway for his phone, mind racing. For once, Ross’ wanton streak worked in someone else’s favor.  He returned to Matty’s room and sat with the girl to exchange numbers. “Please, just as soon as you see her, give her this message. I’ll owe you big time.” The girl, Veronica, assured him, “It’s nothing. I think we have a meeting this Friday, I’ll keep your text unread so I’ll remember.” 

George had something to hold onto, the hope Ross’ paramour would follow through. _Rosie_ , he liked it. George had not one idea of what he would say if she called him, which, considering their last encounter, seemed highly unlikely to happen. Still, some thing aligned for him and he had to take a shot.


	3. put your hands into the flame

“Roslyn? Roslyn!”

Roslyn turned in the direction of the voice and saw a short slightly familiar woman approaching her, “Yes?”

The woman who hailed her was winded, “God you can move, ok, whew,” the stranger paused once more to catch her breath with Roslyn watching her curiously.

“So, first, you don’t know me. Hi, I’m Veronica,” she waved with a flourish with bright eyes and flushed cheeks, “Second, this is weird, and you don’t have to listen to me, but I told him I’d try, so…here I am.”

Roslyn was confused but patient and intrigued especially so by, “Him?”

“Oh god, sorry. George! Let me back up, I was at the party weekend before last, I kind of know Maria through another girl. Anyway, I met George. Erm, well I was with Ross and then I met George. And you were the topic of conversation that morning. Before I knew it, I blurted out that I knew (of) you and I’m all over the place, sorry.”

Veronica paused and tapped her phone, “He wanted me to give you his number if or when I saw you,” holding up the screen to show a text from George asking Roslyn to call him if she gets his message. Roslyn stared at the phone longer than necessary, her brow furrowed tightly, “George wants to talk to me.”

“Are you ok?” Veronica watched her warily, lowering her phone to reach into her purse for a pen and pad to write his number. Roslyn finally shook her head and looked back at the stranger, “Yes, sorry, this is all...unexpected.”

Veronica nodded, “I have never done anything like this, and if I hadn’t seen George myself, I likely would not be bothering you but, I don’t know, he was,” Veronica shrugged and had a wistful cast on her face, “It was sweet, so if I can play matchmaker, why not? Here--,” She extended the torn off bit of paper to

Roslyn, who started to put it in her coat pocket before stopping and saying, “Wait, let me get yours too, we’re in media theory together, right?” 

She texted Veronica for the address of an exhibit Mr. Choi had “strongly implied” they visit which all the students interpreted as an assignment but made no mention about George at all. She floated through the next few days trying to find an opener and by her count, she had drafted no less than thirty texts that never made their way to his phone.

She cuddled up with Mosey and rehearsed. “I heard you were looking for me,” was fickle. “This is Roslyn,” too reserved. “Let’s meet up!” assumptive and uncharacteristically perky. Mosey displayed her displeasure with that one by leaping off the bed. 

Besides not knowing what to say, she felt like a wobbly and off-balance. She was out of practice with dating, flirting, all of that. She had been so busy the last few years, a failed business, leaving then re-enrolling in school then moving to California, dating just was not on the radar. She had been tempted but even then, she couldn’t keep a game face on. Something about George though, made her want to try.

It was Friday now, she presumed he would be with his band, or out at a flash restaurant or doing...whatever tall muscular famous drummers do in L.A. which did not include staring at his phone. No matter what she said, she doubted he would see whatever hastily assembled word salad she sent him until Sunday at the earliest.

She checked the closing time of the assigned exhibit, picked an outfit then showered and dressed. She opened the text app one last time as she locked the door to her apartment. _What does anyone say when they are sought out by a person they have no reasonable expectation to ever encounter?_   she thought.

She couldn't answer that. Nothing felt right so nothing is what she sent as she headed into the night.

* * *

When they weren’t rehearsing and brainstorming on production techniques, which let him put up mental blinders, George haunted their rented loft, his phone never far from his eyeline. Matty tried his best not to notice or hold it against George.

He’s seen him like this before, simultaneously hyper focused but listless. George had earned some slack and Matty had grown to regret dousing George’s enthusiasm about what seemed to be an undoubtedly good thing. He let it go until Thursday, when he took George out for lunch.

“You’ve got cabin fever, Georgie, we can take a break, yeah?” as he all but shoved George’s large frame out of the door. “I’ve almost got it, Matty, don’t break my train of thought here!”

“The soundboard and dials aren’t going anywhere, you’ve got to get out of the house. And for fuck’s sake, put your phone in your pocket and I will throw it in the pool, I swear. I want tacos so _we_ ,” Matty gestured with the keys in his hand, “are getting tacos.” “Fine, Ross and Adam coming with?” Matty shook his head no, “I’ll pick something up for them on the way back.”

They each had a tray of tacos and chips and settled at a bench near the truck. Matty took a deep swallow of his beer, wiping his mouth and looking out at the pier. The sun was high in the sky, but the air was filled with the slightly dwindled remnants of summer. When they first moved in to research and record, they could barely walk the strip now August was tapping the beach on the shoulder to make way.

“Something on your mind, Matty?” George tossed a chip to get his attention. “Yeah, actually. I, have a confession.” George looked at Matty sideways while he chewed, “...What?”

“Ross, Adam and I drew straws and whoever lost HAD to get you out of the house and out of your own head for bit.”

“What the fuck, Matty! I haven’t been that bad,” George noticed his volume and defensiveness and then thought a moment continuing quieter, “...have I? Like this isn’t Margo territory.”

Matty chuckled, “No! Nowhere near that, but I think Ross was going to choke you with his Mogami cables if I hadn’t got you out of there.” He wiped his mouth, “You know, that’s the first time you’ve said her name without practically spitting on the ground after.”

“Did I?” George was surprised at himself, he didn’t feel it that radioactive burn in his sternum when he said it. Her name was just any other word now.

“Yeah, it’s good. Not that any of us have occasion to say her name, thank god, it’s good that you can without it being a thing.” George had to agree, he had gone overboard with purging Margo from his bubble of recovery.

“Uh, speaking of things, can I just, I’m sorry about what I said the other day?” George searched his memory, they were fine the past week and a half, slight headbutting over mixes but nothing warranting an apology in his view.

Matty stared at George not clueing in as to what this was about, and if he were younger or an asshole, he would have taken this get out of jail free card but with their history and the road forward, he couldn’t live with himself nor with more anxiety and clouded emotions in an already stressful time.

“The girl, at the party? It’s been weighing on me, I shouldn’t have tossed her in with all that ugliness we’ve been through. Not fair to her and certainly not at all to you.”

“Pft, I had put it out my mind, honestly, you were a little out of line but we’re good. It’s under the bridge! But thank you. I appreciate it.” George really had not thought about it since that morning, He was taken aback but ultimately felt cared for in the way Matty thought of his well-being.

“Ok, good. I don’t think I could have gone another day with that it was eating me up. Just, please know that I am happy for you that, to see you excited! We’ve got some ways to go with this next album and tour, you shouldn’t limit yourself, not on my word anyway. I want something good for you, George, I don't know if it’s her or who it ever might be.”

Matty swigged the last of his beer then stood with his hands high, taking on a dramatic air, “I, Matty Healy, am conceding that I do not know everything.” and sat down again, “But, who knows?”

“God, you’re serious. Well, I am grateful, even if I drive you lot crazy while I figure myself out. Really, it wasn’t your content, it was mostly the delivery and execution. When I let myself be entirely cynical, it could have been a ploy or whatever. But if it were, it worked. I’m still thinking about her.”

“And as strange as that was, hightailing it away, I was relieved, like she figured it out and didn’t immediately fawn over me or calculate this chance to her advantage. I felt like a person, not a god, or…” his voice grew small, “a project to be molded into someone’s idea of who I am to them.”

Matty saw a familiar cloud darken George’s face but it disappeared quickly. Hearing his friend speak this way, knowing the deeper meaning of that pain, and the he vowed he would not interfere with this again, only when George asked. Until then, he was onboard. 

“Anyway, you are right, it might not even be her, so I shouldn’t go all in. It’s likely me, I’m drunk off this feeling of liking someone again. So,” George looked away, “anyway, are we finished here? “And even though she literally ran away, it felt good. he l George gestured to the empty trays and bottles then collected and dumped them in the trash.

George and Matty meandered the strip looking at the games and children playing. He willed himself to temper his expectations. If it were to happen, it would have by now. His hand twitched idly towards his pocket, but he resisted the urge to check and made it back to the loft without checking it.

Their afternoon session was productive and harmonious and the threat from Ross dissipated through the evening, but he had come undone by Friday noon. Still no word at all from Roslyn or even Veronica. George watched the clock with its interminable ticking torturing him by the second.

Adam and Ross had spent most of the day goading his nervousness, taking turns sending him insipid shit then cracking up at his urgency to grab his phone. Their fun was over once he had knocked over an award, chipped it then unleashed a litany of expletives at their direction. Maybe he deserved a slight ribbing but those two were going overboard in his opinion and retreated to elsewhere in the house.

Matty came back in the early evening and sensing the tension in the air, rounded up Adam and Ross for drinks, “we’ll call you later!” Now alone, with his silent phone and roaming thoughts, he was worse off than before until he couldn't stand it further. He stood up and grabbed his jacket, earbuds and keys, calling out to no one, “I’m going for a fucking walk.”

* * *

Roslyn fought to keep her face in a blank yet pleasant expression as the curator describes several pieces in the gallery. Either she wholly misunderstood Mr. Choi’s ideas on the assignment or these exhibits were either not good or just beyond her. She settled on the former and gave the artists and photographer’s slack as she’s still new at this.

Photography was a recently discovered interest of hers, growing more into a passion every day but the theoretical aspects were not grasping her. She wasn’t in the right headspace for deep thought. She wanted simple, straightforward and direct, no room for wondering and guessing.

Like what a handsome stranger might say to her or her to him. She shook the thought away and tried to focus as she made two rounds around the gallery, taking notes that could later be wrought into a summary of sorts on the subjects and composition.

One exhibit did capture her attention, though it did so when she stood on the opposite side of the room. Up close, it was made of strings stretched into meticulous curves looped around transparent pins that crossed chaotically. From a distance, it formed intertwining humanistic shapes. She walked back closer to get its name, _3 Loves_ , then exited the gallery

It was barely 8, with her assignment completed, the night stretched out for her, ripe for potential but aimless. She could call Eva, it had slipped her mind to update her on recent events and maybe find something to get into. She reached into her purse for her phone when George’s lighter tumbled out and landed on the sidewalk.

She had forgotten about it despite Eva’s “signs” and had been treating it as some cursed talisman that wouldn’t harm her if she kept it out of sight and mind. But here, it appeared and with it the way to reach out to George. It’s natural, funny, an icebreaker and would close the loop on that awkward exit. She walked to the corner, held up the lighter and snapped a picture of it next to the intersecting street signs.

She made a few slight adjustments, hit send and called Eva.

* * *

George took off from the loft without a clear destination in mind but two blocks, a right then two more blocks had him surrounded by people, noises, distractions. The pier that was a ghost town thirty-six hours ago was now bustling. The air was warm and inviting with a touch of salt and his walk eased the anxious energy that had built up in him.

He didn’t mean to, but his mind drifted to Margo and how he didn’t even feel it pass his lips when he said her name earlier. He scanned at the crowd, and saw himself in the friends and lovers on the strip. How he and Margo must have looked to strangers like him at one time.

Escaping the fog of his grief from the collapse of that relationship was a slog, full of bargaining, manipulation and relapses. If Matty could have dunked him into a tub full of ice, he would if it would give him the George he knew back. George had loved someone who did not exist, a woman who after 6 years had been replaced with an imposter shaped like Margo, who had ideas _for_ George but not necessarily _with_ George.

The things Margo wanted weren’t unreasonable, with how quickly and intensely they loved each other, it was logical and eventual. And George would never say out loud but honestly, conventional and boring but could be fulfilling. What she craved, wanted, then demanded was something that George could not promise he was capable to deliver. And she held those failures against him.

He would never make her happy, even as he was doing the things she wanted, and once he realized that he himself was not exactly essential to this plan, just convenient it was over. That was not a way for him to live or love or be loved, as a prop in someone else’s scheme for their happiness.

A passerby bumped into him shaking him loose from those painful memories and he heard his phone chirp. George hesitated then braced himself for disappointment, thinking it was just Matty asking him to meet them which he honestly wasn’t in the mood for. He let them hang on the vine as he walked into a bright and quiet ice cream parlor and ordered a cone.

The phone chirped again as he paid and thought better than to ignore the guys for too long. He thanked the cashier and reached into his pocket and saw texts from a number he didn’t recognize. Balancing his phone and his cone he sat at a nearby table and opened the texts.

 _“Do you want this back?”_ a hand holding his lighter under a street light. A soccer game playing on a bar’s television. _“I think I’ve heard of these guys before [wink emoji]”_ The same hand holding the tattered sleeve of their first album in a record store.

Roslyn had been texting him from on about an hour after he left the house. She seemed playful, a little teasing but open and wanted to let him in on her random Friday evening activities.

The thing he had been wanting was right here in front of him and he didn’t know what to do with it. George’s hands shook he was nervous and thought maybe she was nervous too, and had to build up to this moment. He was also a little pissed at himself, if not for overthinking everything and rehashing terrible memories, he might have heard the alerts.

He gave himself exactly one more minute to be sore about it and looked at the photos again. He recognized the record store she had been in, but it was quite far and very likely she wasn’t even there anymore.

Slightly deflated, he was happy he had heard from her, and he had her number now, but he didn’t want to overwhelm her with his enthusiasm for this development. He took a picture of his half-eaten cone and sent it back to her and snapped more pictures of his surroundings while walking back home.

When he arrived at the loft’s door his phone buzzed again.

 _“Do you like sake?”_ with a sign for a ramen shop, with address and time.

George rushed in, washed his face and brushed his teeth while ordering an uber then quickly changing his shirt and shoes.

* * *

Roslyn nursed her near empty bottle of Soju. George had replied several times as she ate earlier, and she was delighted to say the least, drawing looks from other diners when a giggle escaped. All things she didn’t expect to see from him gave her a surprising peek at his world. There were no models, champagne, designer suit fittings, just a slice of life at a late summer beachside pier.

She thought of more ridiculous rich famous men scenarios, so she wouldn’t have to consider the silence that emerged from her last text giving him the address to the ramen shop she was sitting in. Maybe a miscalculation on her part, she pushed her luck and he wasn’t feeling it anymore. She had the impulse to back down after the first message, that latent shyness she beat into submission rearing its head, but at Eva’s insistence, she grew bold and continued sending him random things through the night, whatever amused her or she thought he might like.

“What’s with the pout?” a nearby patron asked, stealing her attention. _Am I pouting?_ Roslyn thought while glancing at the mirror lining the wall. Though she looked a little downturned, hair a bit out of place and too much hurried eyeliner, she would hardly call it a pout. She met her inquirer's eyes, a stylish older woman who seemed entirely tickled by Roslyn.

“I’m waiting for someone, but I don’t think they’ll show,” Roslyn confessed, “II don’t know what will happen if they do.” The woman stared at her more like assessed then sighed and chuckled with light derision, “Who is he?”

“I…don’t know. I mean I do but…fuck,” Roslyn crumpled, “was I that obvious?” “A tad. I’m no Sherlock but you’re cute, dressed up, and you keep checking your phone like the mystery of life is on it. A man can do that to a woman on occasion,” she leaned in conspiratorially, “and despite our best, we let them.” Roslyn relaxed and invited the stranger, Gloria, to her booth. “It’s terrible, isn’t it. Minding my own business, and I have a lot of business, and I meet this guy and it’s like I forgot how to do _anything_.”

“Damn, girl. He must be something else.” Roslyn just nodded. “Well, I’m not going to trouble you about him, tell me about your business,” Gloria ordered. They spoke for a time, huddled up in the corner, head tossed back laughing and toasting their drinks when George walked in, chiming the bell on the door frame.

She was wiping at her eyes when Gloria nudged her to look up at the doorway, “Is that him?” and followed her direction. George was standing there looking like a lost doe. He fidgeted with his phone scanning the dimly lit room. “Damn,” Roslyn exhaled. That tension that left her body while talking to Gloria resumed its perch in her neck and shoulders, but Gloria leaned over and said, “You’ll be fine” as she gathered her coat and purse.

Roslyn took a deep breath and meekly waved George over. If nothing else, she could fake it like her heart wasn’t in her throat, at least for a few minutes. George couldn’t remember his legs ever feeling as heavy as they did when he crossed over to her, his tongue was thick and dry in his mouth as he asked, “Roslyn?” She glanced at him, down to her lap then back at him and smiled warmly and patted the booth seat next to her. “Excuse me, Gloria, before you go, this is George, the one with all the fuss. George, Gloria.”

“Don’t mind me, I’m on my way out,” she paused to give George a once over, “a major fuss indeed. You two enjoy your evening.”

George smiled shyly then bid her a good evening. “So…you were talking about me, eh?” Roslyn squinted her eyes and held up her thumb and pointer finger, “just thiiiis much. Do you want a drink? They’ll be closing soon so I’m not sure if they’ll cook anything up for you.”

George summoned the waiter and ordered two of what she had, and they toasted. George’s stomach felt it would capsize at any moment. All this time, he thought he was out of order, making too much of a drunk encounter but he was a “fuss” in her mind, one worth talking to literal strangers for.

When she finished her shot, Rosie sighed deeply and said, “Besides, I figured it was only fair, balance the scales, seeing as how to you talked of me to, what,” she started counting on her fingers, “Matty, Ross, Veronica? Maybe your uber driver too?” She smiled brightly at him.

George laughed and rolled his eyes, “Don’t get started on him, I didn’t think I’d make it here on time the route he took.” George took her slight ribbing seriously, “I suppose that was extreme. I am sorry for making you uncomfortable. I had to try. I really wanted to see you again. It’s funny, all the different apps and such to find people, and I end up with you by passing notes in class basically.”

“Oh no, I didn’t feel uncomfortable, just shell-shocked but I know me, I’ve no problem telling anyone to fuck off, you would have no doubt. But instead, we’re here, because I want to be. And you do too.” Rosalyn saw a slight flush on his cheek when the room darkened suddenly, barely lit by the neon signs behind the bar. “Oh, there’s the bell, then. We’d better head out.”

George led her out of the maze of tables and chairs until they were standing outside the restaurant. Had he arrived earlier, they would have had a more graceful denouement. But now it was dark, cold, and awkward and he had another likely terrible uber drive home.

“Well, this sucks, you just got here, and we barely got to talk at all.” Roslyn scanned the mostly empty street stretching out on either side of them. “we should do this again but is it too forward to want you to stay longer?”

George looked down at her knowing there was no way she was getting rid of him any time soon but kept quiet to not volunteer or make assumptions of her intentions. “Oh! I totally forgot, the entire reason for this whole adventure,” she dug the lighter out of her purse and extended it to him, “and you know what? I lied to you.”

George was puzzled as he grasped the lighter, his finger grazing hers, thinking he would believe her if she told him the sky was pink, “About what, is Gloria your sister or something?” Roslyn giggled, “No. But…I also talked about you with my best friend Eva and…my cat, Mosey.”

George stared at her for a long time, so long Roslyn looked at him warily, thinking it was another misstep when George cleared his throat. “Your name is Rosie and you have a cat…named Mosey?”

“Oh. Oh no. No, I don’t call myself Rosie, ‘Mosey and Rosie’? Sounds like a 70s lady police officer sitcom. I should change her name. Again. Not that she pays me much mind to being with.”

“Sorry about that, it just came to me.” George blushed. “You’re fine,” Rosie playfully punched his side, “I’m only half fucking with you. I don’t mind Rosie, but no one ever really calls me that. You can if you want to.” George bit the inside of his cheek to not let his entire face break into a blinding grin, “What did Mosey say, when you told her about me?”

“I suspect if she could, she would have clucked her tongue disapprovingly but then again, she’s professionally tired of my ass. But you…” Roslyn pause. In a night full of chances and “fuck it alls” that had worked in her favor, this was the last one she was going to press her luck with, one that might change everything for her.

“My apartment isn’t far from here if you want to ask her yourself?”


	4. to know which one of us is

On the walk to her place, Roslyn told George how Mosey earned her current name. “All the other cats were manic, jumping off things, biting each other, screeching for no reason. Very cute, of course, but a lot of energy, too much for being home alone while I work. In the corner, a black cat with white on the nose, ear tips, tail, who starting moseying around the chaos, observing, calculating. The other cats didn’t mind her nor she them, I liked that. I had to have her. In an act I personally consider cruel, she had been named Arlo or Lurlene,” crinkling her nose at the memory, “There was no way I would continue torturing he, so she was renamed. I’ve been getting on her nerves ever since. Do you have any pets?”

“No, not set up for that at our place currently, but our friends will bring theirs by the loft. Plus, we’re near the beach so plenty dogs running around there. My mum has one that I see when we go back to Manchester.” Roslyn teased him mimicking his deep voice, “ _My mum_. Where’s the rest of your set at tonight, anyway? I thought I would be interrupting you while y’all were eating ortolan or something.”

“ _Y’all,_ ” George teased back, “Um, they went out for drinks. I declined to go due to my mood. They could use the break from me, honestly, so I ended up out on my own. Wait, ortolan?! God no, where would you get that idea?” Roslyn cackled, “I have a very active imagination when I’m trying to distract myself from anxiety. Doubly so when that anxiety is about a man.” Roslyn cleared her throat, speaking softly, “Why the mood?”

They walked in silence as George thought carefully on how to answer. “I kind of bit their head off because I was a bit worked up about you...wanting to hear from you to know for sure. I was thinking about my ex then the thousand plausible reasons you had not called. Those reasons were suspended in the back of my mind but eventually they floated to the surface.” George sighed deeply, “Matty basically gave me a come to Jesus talk yesterday. Toss-up between that or look the other way when Ross strangled me.” George chuckled lightly then looked down at his feet, “We needed a good talk, I certainly did. It was good for us to check in with each other, it put me back level.

Roslyn didn’t mind her own indecisiveness because it rarely affected others. She felt uneasy now knowing George caught a stray hit. “I’m sorry about that. About me.” George nearly winced, “Please. I’m not telling you any of this for pity or to make you feel terrible, truly, it’s not your fault. You’re under no obligation to apologize for my emotional cracks. You definitely shouldn’t because until Veronica found you, you had no inkling I was even looking for you, right?"

“You’re right, I really didn’t.” Roslyn remembered her conversation the morning after the party groaning, “well, half right." causing George to look at her funny. "Remember I told you I had talked to my friend, Eva, about all of this? She’s kind of ‘woo’,” Roslyn waved her hands, “astrology, ceremony, synastry, etc. I’m surprised she hasn’t asked to do your chart yet. Anyway! _She_ declared it a "sign" that we had a link connecting us simply because I had something of yours in my possession. Now, I put some small stock in the woo myself, but I wasn’t communing with the moon, you know, burning sage over your lighter.” George laughed at her, “I just wanted to make it right by returning it to you. She’s holistic, I’m somewhat practical, so we approach from different sides, we end up at the same place. But! When I tell Eva about tonight, she _will_ still think her way got her there faster.” They both chuckled, George related, “I have plenty of friends who think like that.”

“I had already looked up the label's address, so it would have gotten to you if Veronica hadn’t found me. In a week or so I would have dropped it at the reception desk, done!” She wiped her hands dramatically. “Or I could have waited for another party, Maria usually has one around Labor Day, so if you showed up, I’d hand it right back to you, done! Or a year from now, I slip it to your security or a sound tech at a show, done! You know, “or, or, or,” a million scenarios all waiting for me to be brave enough to do what I did tonight. There were dozens of deleted texts before I sent you that picture. I was so mortified about how I slinked out of there, it paralyzed me, creating this block in my mind that made it impossible to contact you. That made sense...at first but then I abused it by adding my shyness, my humiliation, my superhuman ability to overthink. Then being busy was a beautiful cherry on top of that heap of bullshit."

Roslyn stopped in front of him, adjusting her glasses before looking at George head on, “Ultimately, I was chickenshit. I had the way to you literally handed to me, which I'm sure wasn't easy for you either, yet I still pushed it off. Being oblivious of how you were affected by that doesn’t excuse me because I knew what I was doing by _not_ doing anything. I’m sorry about that. About me.”

George accepted by nodding silently, appreciating her sincerity as she took a stabilizing breath. “OK, well my place is just over there.” They had stopped at a four-story apartment connected to shops on either side, she pointed up, “That’s us, second floor with the balcony. Mosey should grant you an audience but if she doesn’t, I’m sure her loyal food wench,” she stepped back to curtsy, “will entertain you. I only ask that you leave your shoes in the boot tray.” With that, she bounded up the stairs, unlocking her door in a flash.

When George got to the landing, he could hear her in a back bedroom clicking her tongue to lure Mosey out. He hovered awkwardly near the door unsure of where to go after taking off his shoes. “She’s either under my bed or in one of the drawers of my work desk. They leave these perks of having a black cat off the brochure. She’ll come soon enough, she can’t stand not blatantly-hey,” her head tilted at an angle, “you can come all the way in,” her hand beckoning him to do just that. 

“In my mind, I’m walking towards you, but my legs aren’t listening,” George mumbled. As Roslyn approached him she took in how he much broader was, making everything in her apartment seem to be just barely containing George. This close to him now she could pick up the notes in his cologne, woodsy then taking a metallic turn. Her heart was pounding in her throat, almost blocking the words, “It’s ok, I don’t bite, hit the switch behind you? I can’t reach it.” 

George did not break her gaze as he pressed it down, bathing them in darkness. In this small space, his hands were at risk to brush against her chest or her waist then roam from there. He clasped them tight behind him. _Football stats, pedalboards, great castles of England, think about literally anything except how touchable she is,_ George commanded himself. She stared at him another few seconds, seemingly fighting her own battle internally before turning away from him to flip on a small lamp that lit her living room. “The couch is there, or you can use the poang chair. Remotes are on coffee table so make yourself comfortable, I’m going to change.” 

Roslyn changed into the first thing she grabbed in her dresser, giving herself a pep talk while washing her face. _Just talk to him like normal, mind your hands, absolutely you must mind the lips, he’s just a man, be cool_. She returned to the living room, finding him browsing her scattered tchotchkes. Specifically, he was staring at a photo taken of her undeniably in attendance at one of their shows. This colliding of worlds rendered her little pep talk useless, causing her voice to squeak and crack when she asked if he wanted a beer. 

George spun around wobbling slightly, “No, I’m fine, I’m just looking at all your...” Her hair was piled high in a bun tied up with a scarf. The eyes of the giant tweety bird on her shirt pulled his attention away from her eyes, first to her chest then further down until he was gazing at the light reflecting off her smooth brown legs. There was nothing indecent or seductive about her outfit, he was sure she wore something like this often, but he suddenly turned bashful. He felt let in on a secret he thought he shouldn’t be seeing yet or at all. His imagination sparked, but he swallowed hard, looked away quickly to avoid being mistaken for leering, pointing back to the concert photo, “I really like this one,” repeating himself, “I’m fine.”

She slid onto the couch rubbing the remnants of a cream onto her face. George took an unspoken invitation and occupied the space next to her leaving a modest margin between them. His hands were fidgeting in his lap, which did not go unnoticed by her, “Are you fine, George?” George exhaled, “I really am. I like your place, the vibe of it.” “Well, thank you. I’ve been here almost a year, still putting it together.” She finished with her face and turned towards him, “That photo was at O2, thankfully taken before I started crying.”

“You cried? Why?” George asked curiously. She found his question strange as she recalled the many times she and others in the audience cried to practically every song on the setlist. Then her mind turned to the private moments when a lyric or even a note would be too much for her. She answered, “Culmination and catharsis.” She saw the puzzle look on his face deepen. George turned her words over in his mind, forming something with only edges but not clarity until it dawned on him, "Oh, is that why you ran off?" asking her gently. Now she was the one confused, "because I cried at O2?" "No, sorry. I mean, when I thought about it back then, I thought you were a mixture of embarrassed and star struck. I hope that doesn't sound conceited because I'm not, I--," he huffed to untie his tongue and collect his thoughts, "but now I'm seeing it was something more than that."

Roslyn licked her lips, “You get a month-long grace period to be star struck then you are not allowed to lose it over seeing celebrities in the wild, so star struck accounts for maybe 5% of that exit. Best I can describe it is I felt like the old me, the me from 5, 6 years ago and I thought you could somehow see her. That raw unmolded lost girl with a boring fiancé and a dim outlook who was searching for something. Then I heard your music at a crucial moment and it changed me. I went to 14 shows on that tour, I ended my engagement, I made new friends, started taking photographs of my friends at your shows, networked, went to festivals, studied, traveled, explored, started a book, found a job, moved. I changed. The crying was it all hit me standing there in England after wrecking then rebuilding my life and feeling it all at once."

Roslyn sighed running her hands over her face, “When I remember that girl, nothing else in my life had ever hit me like that. Some people climb a mountain, I just listened to albums whose every syllable and key change still make me feel like I put my tongue on a nine-volt battery. This little jolt flows through me. It invigorates me. So! That’s a secret I keep to myself and also a secret I thought you knew just by looking at me recognizing you? You never think you’re going to meet the person who had a hand, however small, in making you become yourself. That’s why this is all so strange and implausible to randomly sit next to you and then impossible to talk to you like you aren't that person to me." She exhaled, and regret flashed in her eyes, "I'm not trying to deify you, and this is entirely too much responsibility to lay at the feet of your band. Ugh, I'm not explaining this right, so I am going to stop talking now.

“No, don’t” George reached out and touched her leg gently, “Don’t stop. It doesn't have to be "right" it's not being graded. Believe it or not, I like to hear these stories. It’s our work but it’s my passion too. It’s rewarding to know the result of the work we put in especially when it started so small so long ago. We’re not that different from the you of five years ago. We couldn't imagine being where we are now. We wanted it but couldn’t see it. You think you saw yourself here? No, you worked for it, you changed it, that’s an amazing feat! You should be proud of that. I can see how overwhelming that could be, I’m not immune myself." George felt she was self-conscious about this confession and wanted to alleviate her pressure. "Let me tell you, when we were first told we were going to be touring, on festivals and as openers for major bands, I threw up! Like we hadn’t even left our office and I chucked in the sink. Then chucked again the first time I saw Jagger.”

Roslyn laughed, and he laughed at the memory of his younger self. “We could have talked some more. I certainly wanted to. I wish you hadn’t left. Besides, I was normal up you figured it out, well I was checking out a girl but too drunk to do anything about it," She blushed, and her shoulders relaxed. "You’re talking to me now, you've charmed me this evening and told me a precious thing and I'm still here. I appreciate that." George realized his hand was still on her knee conducting a current between them. He pulled his hand away and folded them. “If it helps you feel any better at all, please know that Matty thoroughly roasted me about lighting your cigarette. He saw you take off but had a right good laugh at my expense.

Roslyn laughed heartily, "I know you’ve mentioned talking to Matty but it’s such a wild idea to know that he knows about me. How did he roast you?” George chuckled, “He called me a "Clark Gable" motherfucker or maybe some other actor? And I only told him about I felt about you, not you as a person." George shook his head, "Shit, that sounds terrible. I mean I told him that I liked your look, your style, your aura, how you got stuck in my craw instantly and that you seemed to not want anything to do with the 1975.” Roslyn gasped, “That’s even worse!” She buried her face in her hands, “what did he say to that?” “You're fine, I explained like maybe you were embarrassed or something, obviously I now know that was way off base that was the only idea I had at the time. He told me, perhaps indelicately, to be careful, in the days after meeting you but he’s come around, gave me his version of a blessing.”

“Ok, not bad. I don’t think I’ll die from that. ‘Careful’ seems like there’s more to it...” George shifted, “well, we’ve had some enthusiastic fans. I mean, all bands do, we aren’t immune and even still, I appreciate each one of them. However, a select few needed convincing of the legal sort. Matty understandably grew more guarded over the years but the rest of us, especially Ross, are still lenient to a degree about who we interact with.”

“Fair enough, I can respect that. I don't think I'll be running away again anytime soon. Now that I've got that off my chest, I think that was the fight or flight response people speak of.  I've sized you up this evening, you’re entirely too tall to box, so I'm glad flight won out. If it helps any, you’re just barely better off with my elegant exit, because I'd still be running across the fucking globe if I just happened to sit down next to Beyoncé.” George guffawed, “so it’s Beyoncé who gets a bolt?” fully extending the length of his arm then lowered by half, “and the 1975 gets a dazzling slither? That’s the proper ranking?” She nodded and giggled. “Good to know,” chuckling, “So, who’s the musician that would get you to stay on the couch?”

“Hm, Phil Collins or Stevie Nicks. Prince, I’d beg him to not leave us.” She yawned though tried to hide it behind her hand. “If you’re sleepy, I can go, you don’t have to stay up.” She shook her head no, “I’ve got another hour or so in me. Do you have to get on?” resting her head on the back of the couch. “No, not until midday tomorrow.” She smiled at him, “Good. So, since we’re bringing out the big personal guns...why was your ex on your mind tonight?” “Ohh, we’re having a nice time, we don’t have to dive into that.” George objected, his eyes shifting around the room. Roslyn had seen that look before, “one of those, huh?” then furrowed her brow, “Is it that bad?” George pondered how far he wanted to go while considering her brown eyes, they were a darker shade than he remembered. “If it’s alright, I don’t want to talk about all of it.” “No, I mean yes that’s totally-in your own time,” she stuttered. 

George continued, “It’s not the worst thing to happen, just not pleasant and I’m not blameless. I was thinking about her because when I saw all these couples at the pier, I wanted to be one of them. That particular want was new for me, it felt foreign. I don’t know if you’ve ever gone through a bad break up, one that doesn’t end so much as implode. It makes you collapse in on yourself, burrow deep, turn it over endlessly asking unanswerable questions until ultimately, you write it all off, love, happiness, everything. I hope you don’t ever experience it. Eventually, I crawled out of that hole, but my head and heart were all screwed up. At some point, I decided that because I failed, I was neither capable or worthy of love and would virulently deny any notion that I might one day do so again. So, tonight, for me to feel that spark of hope without the impulse to snuff the life of it? To acknowledge that the relationship broke me, but I didn’t have to stay in pieces? Small in the grand scheme yet nothing short of revelatory.”

Roslyn’s whimpered before she could stop herself. She had never come close to the brink like George, but she walked to the edge with some of her friends, just barely keeping them from falling over. She’d seen that far off look in their eyes, how they writhed when that pain crawled through them anew.  Roslyn felt winded despite not having moved for the last fifteen minutes. She was suddenly grateful for the slew of middling to all out indifferent partners she’d been with and that one questionable fiancé. Despite his earlier request that she not do so, a part of her did pity him as she would anyone who lived each day thinking themselves undeserving of love. She felt a strong desire to comfort him but was not sure how to navigate that against her burgeoning attraction to him.

“Um, I should get you something to sleep in.” Roslyn stood and started walking to the back of the apartment. “What, why? We've had a long night, it’s nearly one and you’re exhausted. You don’t have to put me up, I can have an uber here in,” George tapped his phone quickly until it chimed that his ride was booked, “less than ten minutes. Get into bed, love, I’ll let myself out, lock the door and all.” George stood up checking his pockets to make sure he had everything.

Roslyn crossed back and made a comical attempt to loom over him knowing good and well he had ten inches on her, nine if she stopped slouching so much. She locked eyes with him and spoke in a soft, inquisitive tone, “You keep volunteering to go, like you’re imposing on me and would be doing me a favor by being gone. I haven’t once asked you to leave, you notice that?” She walked towards him, closing the gap between them, “All of my senses have been on code red, I told you something few people know and even less would understand, and for the sake of my nervous system, I _should_ let you leave.” She leaned in to emphasize her next point, “I have and am asking you to stay despite every impulse that has told me to not do the things I’ve done tonight. I ran away from you once, that was my freebie, I don’t plan on doing that again.” She stopped with her nose just about to his chest, “I can and would prefer to fall asleep with you here and have you here when I wake up.” She leaned back and straightened her posture. “You get me?"

George nodded and said nothing while looking down into her deep honey flecked eyes. "Good. Cancel that uber right now, please.” Those same eyes followed his hand as he pulled his phone out of his pocket and canceled the ride as commanded before setting it on the coffee table. Roslyn reached up to hold held his face in her hands, “Thank you. I’d like to keep you around, so you should learn, and quickly, how to listen to me. Ok?” George shook his head yes and committed the tenderness of her palms to his memory.

She about-faced and disappeared into her room again, coming out with a blanket and his sleeping clothes piled high blocking her view. “The blanket looks heavy for the heat but it’s really light and fluffy. Now, the couch is probably too short for you, but you’ll survive a night, big ol strapping thang like you, I’m sure you’ve slept on worse.” George had the most ecstatic smile spread across his face when she returned to the living room, “You want to keep me, eh?”

She tossed the garments at him and began taking the decorative pillows off the couch as a plum flush spread across her cheeks. “The bathroom is first on the right behind the kitchen. And I’m--” Roslyn stopped herself from telling him where her room was. Not that her place was a sprawling mass to get lost in, but it seemed a loaded invitation. “I’m crashing but holler if you need anything, if you get scared in the dark or if Mosey finds you. She likes to scratch new things.”

“New _thangs_ ,” George couldn’t help it. She slapped him playfully for that one. “Hush! I’m in L.A., not from L.A.” She paused at the front of the hallway, “Good night, George Daniel.”

“Good night, Rosie.”

The fatigue that threatened to overtake her as she sat next to him escaped deflated the moment her head hit the pillow. She left her door ajar and could hear him moving around in the living room, _shit!_ when his phone clattered on the floor then the couch shifting as he spread his long body across it. She pressed her face into the pillow and squealed before turning to lie on her back. The exertion of her bravery did exhaust her body but her mind raced. Her own confession, she cursed her inability to express it accurately but felt an assured by both its release and his reception. Maybe it would come to her later or maybe she could take his advice and just let it go. The story about his ex, she knew there was more, but she didn’t need to know it before he was ready. The compulsion to tend to his wounds was suffocating, she wanted to hold him, she wanted his arms around her even in the fading summer’s sweltering heat. She thought of his warmth if he held her. She turned to face the door and thought of other activities for his hands as she drifted off.

A few hours later, a brightness pierced her eyelids then swept away quickly. Moments later, it shone again, wrenched them open stealing her away from sleep scanning her surroundings. Blinking hard to focus she saw a dark figure in her doorway that moved, and she yelped. “Rosie?!” George turned back down the hallway and opened her door wider. Not knowing where the switch was he fumbled comically in the unfamiliar territory of her bedroom. “George?” “It’s me, are you alright?” Roslyn sat up straight, making the bed frame squeak allowing him to sense where she might be feeling his way towards her. “I’m fine, your shadow startled me is all.” She reached for her bedside table and turned on a small lamp.

“I was in the bathroom. I scared you! I’m so sorry,” He found her with her bun slightly lopsided, a few curls errantly sticking out. “ _Something_ scared me. You don’t.” She rubbed her eyes again bringing George into focus. George was shirtless wearing sweatpants which made of thin fabric. She saw more of him than she’d ever imagined seeing so soon. The well-formed muscles in his chest and abdomen were rising and falling as his own pulse calmed its racing speed. Her heart was pounding but no longer from fright. She averted shook her head, feigning shaking sleep off then slid back down under the covers.

George stopped the foot of her bed, “You sure you’re ok?” “Five by five, George, thank you for checking on me.” “Ok.” he still looked a little spooked, but he believed her. She let him turn away making it all the way to his hand holding the knob when a tiny voice escaped her, “Stay.” His long legs carried him to her and he crouched down to her, face to face in the narrow space between the bed and wall. He swept the back of his hand across her cheek and felt that same conductive jolt of static between them. Her hand held his against her cheek and he exhaled, “I’m here. I won’t leave.”

She blinked slowly before closing her eyes, placing her hand over his. She didn’t have much fight left in her against the tether that was pulling her to him. She would soon stop straining, let go, be caught. She opened her eyes, propped herself up on an elbow and leaned in towards him. “Don’t.” George said when she was centimeters from his lips. He saw doubt or hurt cross her face and quickly said, “I mean, not yet.” He pulled her hand to his face and whispered, "Not yet. Believe me, I want to but, I haven't earned it, Rosie.”

She didn't agree with that at all, but she couldn't make a compelling case in her half-awake state. She turned over the benefit of his lips on hers for a moment. He was right. It's too soon, too precious to be rushed, she conceded his point with bow of her head. She slid away from him tossing the sheets away from her leaving a space wide enough for him to fit then sat on the edge of the bed, “Let’s go.” “Where?” She tugged the top blanket off the bed, grabbed his hand, leading him back to the living room.

He watched her slide the poang and footrest to the arm of the couch next to his pillow. Just then, Mosey darted out from a side table skidding to the far corner of dining room. “Was that her?” “Yeah, she probably already sniffed you while you slept earlier,” she curled into the recliner draping the quilt tucking her feet in. George followed her lead, resuming his spot gathering his blanket up under his chin. George wished her sweet dreams closing his eyes to the sound of her soft breathing. When he was at the edge of slipping under, he felt her hand slide slowly through his hair then drape across his scalp repeatedly. "You've earned this, at least," were her last words to him before they both finally slept.


	5. if i can wait until

Her hand was still in his hair when the dawn washed over them, stirring Roslyn first who's shuffling then woke George. He put his hand on hers and locked their fingers, stroking her wrist with his thumb. "Did you sleep well?" she asked while stretching pulling away from him momentarily before relaxing then whispered, "Hello, Mosey, bonjour mama." The elusive cat had curled up on the footrest, acknowledging Roslyn with languid eyebrow raise. "Extremely well," his voice strained as he stretched now. He turned to his side and got a good look at Mosey then asked, "I may be jumping the gun but was this a date?"

"Hm," she gave it consideration, "I'd say it hit some classic markers: awkward bumbling, relationship trauma, some light sexual tension. Perhaps unconventional that most of it took place in my living room, but I don't mind calling it that," a lilting joy evident in her voice, "if you don't." She stood up keeping their hands entwined and sat in the free space near his midsection. The midnight's tension that tested them had cooled into a welcome ease in the morning's light.

"Instead of spilling my guts to you, I should have asked how you like your eggs, I think other things must happen before we're at that point," he chuckled heartily, which delighted her, "But it's nearly 10 and much too late for that. At any rate, I should learn how you like your coffee first then work my way up. Who knows, one day, I may convincingly prepare an authentic English breakfast or fry up as y'all say." George groaned, "I won't put you through that," but felt joy at her thinking of him in her future. She looked at him puzzled, "Why? Is it hard to make?" "No, we just have to be pissed to enjoy it. And really, it's not supposed to taste good exactly? It's like that sand they sprinkle to soak up gasoline and oil after a car accident." She grimaced a bit, "sounds scrumptious."

He used his free hand to pull a loosened strand of hair free from her slightly lopsided bun and curled it around his finger. He started to speak again when his phone buzzed erratically. She handed it to him and clasped their hands tighter together. His sat up straight his eyes wide in a panic, "Shit! It's Matty, I need to go soon, for real this time. We have a few preliminary meetings today."

Roslyn leapt off the couch now frantic as well, "Oh shit, what time do you have to be there?" He looked back down at the message, "Erm, a car service is picking us up at 11," George was sliding out his lounging clothes. Roslyn stopped her mad scramble to appreciate the sunlight hitting well-conditioned muscles that were all too quickly covered by his clothes from the night before. George straightened his shirt, "Traffic is going to be a nightmare but if I pray, I can be there with just enough time to brush my face and wash my teeth before we head out."

"Well, I can give you ride," she offered happily. "What? How?" George was incredulous. "I have a car? It's in the lot behind my building. Most things in the neighborhood are walkable so I don't use it around here, but anyway! Let me change, fill Mosey's bowls, then we can hop to. There's mouthwash and face towels in the bathroom to give you a head start, you're welcome to them." She was in her room in a blink before George could thank her or protest her generosity by making other arrangements leaving him stood in her living room looking lost. In the span of a minute, the crisis was handled.

George used the toiletries, returning to the living room to fold the blanket and tried at rearranging the pillows. He tied his shoes and sat at the small dinner table, texting Matty that he was getting a ride and would be there with time to spare. He sat waiting for Roslyn when he something moved near him. Mosey had emerged from the couch and wandered towards him. She sniffed his shoes and legs then sat back, wrapping her tail around her front paws. This felt like first step in the process towards getting her approval, but he didn't want to take a chance and pet her. He did take a sly photo, no flash or shutter sound, when she happened to look up at him.

His phone buzzed again: [ride? From who? accompanied by an orgy of emojis]. [I'll explain later!] With that he turned off the screen and shoved it into his pants pocket where it clattered against the lighter which gave him an idea. He stood up careful to step around Mosey to cross the living room and placed his lighter next to the photo of her at their show. It belonged to her now and with any luck, so would he. She appeared in the kitchen with her hair loose from its bun, wearing denim shorts, a yellow baseball tee and Converse pouring dry food and water before the observant Mosey. "You ready?" She asked from behind him. "More than ever."

They came to a stop outside a picturesque loft with floor-to-ceiling windows and a small yard. "This is me," George unbuckled his seatbelt, "Thank you so much for this. You saved me from pain of death if I made us late or missed this." "Your life is always in the balance with them, isn't it? I was happy to do it. I," Roslyn put the car in park, "I don't want to hold you up, but I had an amazing night with you." George was elated, "I did too! I would like to take you out on a typical date I guess, somewhere nice? Anywhere you want to go." Roslyn didn't catch herself before blurting out Really?!" then covered her mouth. She tried to recovery coolly, but her joy was still very much evident on her face, "Ok, I'll check yelp and see what places have ortolan on the menu."

"I hate to break this to you, but I don't think it's in season, love, or legal?" They both laughed at their private joke, her eyes crinkling at the edge of her sunglasses before her face fell. "You better go, Matty looks...well I don't know what that face is," pointing past him, "he doesn't look happy." George turned his head then winced, "Ooh yeah. Ok, well I'll arrange something in a few days." She nodded at him then adjusted her glasses, "You'd better," half command half plea while smiling brightly at him.

George wished he were stronger especially after telling her he wanted to wait to earn her, but he allowed himself this one lapse, letting go of the door handle to lean over, kissing her cheek softly which bloomed with warmth against his lips. Roslyn tried to play off, hiding her face by sweeping her hair out the way, grazing him gently, whispering "Bye, George."

George sighed shakily, exiting the car and bent down before closing it, "Call you later--today!" before closing the door securely and walked up the drive, his muscles aching with every step that took him further from her. When he got in the doorway, he looked back and waved before closing it. Matty was on him before the lock clicked properly. "Where were you all night? We ran into--who was that?" craning his neck around the window as George passed him. He was half up the stairs and yelled down, "We'll talk about it later!"

"Well, fuck me, must be good," Matty said to himself then yelled back up at him, "Don't take long, the car will be here in 45." He started to walk away before adding "It's informal but we should look put together not like we've been lounging on the beach all summer chasing after fit birds!" "fit birds? Shut up Matty," George yelled from afar. He showered and dressed in a flash, grateful for the extra time had Roslyn given him and was greeted by Matty's impish grin when he descended the stairs, "So...?"

George stared at him, unsure how much to reveal so he opted to disclose nothing, ignoring the prompt to spill and instead volleyed a misdirect, "Who did you run into at drinks?" Matty clocked the dodge but chose to table it for when time wasn't a factor. He had a feeling it would take a while when would be ready to George would share. "Well, we saw Chris and Thom at the first bar who joined us as we ended up doing a crawl of sorts where we then saw Margo." He watched for a reaction and was surprised by the absence of one except hairline twitch at George's jaw.

He only half heard Matty's words, vaguely registering the names. He was occupied with thinking of a restaurant to take Rosie to and a Margo sighting was not worth interrupting that. They had gone a South American steak and cigar bar when they'd first arrived to record but could not remember the name to save his life. He thought it might be perfect, but he was unsure of her diet preferences. George realized he hadn't answered Matty, a noncommittal "Oh," was all he could muster, his eyes remained flat and unfocused as he fastened his watch.

Matty continued on, "she was with someone from the label, I can never remember his name. Tall, glasses, hair a different color every lunar cycle?" That bit of information got a slight rise out of George who sniffed then scratched the bridge of his nose. "Len? Leno? His actual name might be Leonard, but he ordained to be called something else once he got promoted. Did you speak to them?" "No, not at first, just a terse wave as we were seated." Adam joined them from the kitchen to add, "Ross wound himself up as he got more sloshed and had to be held back from going up to them. Some days, I feel he's madder than you ever were about all that."

"Mad at whom?" Ross entered their living room, looking out the window for the car. "You were getting pissed and stirring shit up about Margo last night." "Well, why shouldn't I be? She fucking--" Matty held up a hand cut him off, "it's not our place, Ross, and we've heard that from you before. If there's anything left to be said, George will say it," Matty turned to his friend, seeing something slightly new in him on this Saturday morning, "but I don't think we'll be needing to come to his aid on that front, will we, George?"

George's face burned in the center, "Whatever you were going to say Ross, if I were there, I don't think I'd stop you. I appreciate your thinking of me. But that's all done. Everyone should cool off and forget it happened entirely. None of that needs to be dragged out publicly. Don't let it even leave this house, Ross, you get me?" Ross exhaled and nodded, "Last I'll say is, if someone treated me like that, scorched earth would seem like tea with the Queen compared to where I'd leave them."

George believed him. His temper, when fully formed and fired was legendary but there was no need to stoke it right now. He gave Ross a light slap on the cheek, "That would require you actually opening your heart. You do have a heart, right? Not just a machine that powers your cock for that night's queue?" Ross punched him in his shoulder as a horn honked outside their door. "Fuck off! I won't bring anything up, I promise you." With that they all climbed into the backseat and headed into the city for their meeting.

* * *

 

Rosie called Eva, connecting through her car's Bluetooth as she drove without a clear destination. Eva answered on the second try, "Hello?" panting slightly. "Where are you?" "I just got in from this kettlebell class, those things are no joke. What are you up to?" Roslyn thought on the previous twelve hours and could only say, "I just dropped George Daniel off at his house. Girl..." This one word was more than enough to get Eva going. "What happened? Did you call him? Is he even prettier in the daylight? When's the date?! Tell me everything now!" Roslyn shouted, "I'm trying!"

Eva blasted her, "No you're not! You're probably staring off into space, giggling and shit looking goofy as hell, I know it. I can hear it in your voice." She had pulled over, resting her forehead on the steering wheel and sighed deeply, "Ok so, I am not saying you were right about it but...I texted George about his lighter then we met up," Roslyn had to turn the volume down on her speaker to dampen Eva's elated cries, "He's just, I can't even talk about it all. Do you know what it does to you to stay up late into the night with a man trying not to dissolve into a puddle? It's very physically taxing, like my stomach wants to throw itself up while it also falls out of my ass."

"Just because you can't say I'm right doesn't mean I won't say it," Eva cackled then cut short, "Wait, 'late into the night'? Did he stay over? Did you two..." "No!" Roslyn squealed at a near-inaudible range, "God no!" Roslyn was scandalized by the implication, "I mean not that he isn't gorgeous, all those muscles and so tall but no we did not do anything like that. He slept on the sofa. I did try to kiss him, but he didn't want to." Eva sputtered, " _He_  didn't want to? Oh, shit girl." Roslyn was confused, "What? He said, "not yet," not never; I can respect that." Eva scoffed, "You've already lost. Do not even try to fight it," she replied matter-of-factly.

"What do you mean? I didn't lose anything. Oh, but he did kiss me on the cheek when I dropped him off just now, it was sweet." Eva snapped her finger, " _that_ right there, 'he was sweet'," mocking her, "he's got you and he has barely touched you. But if it's 'not yet' he's probably working through some shit. Closing some doors and all that." "Yeah, he mentioned an ex, the situation sounded bad, and it's in his past, but yeah,  _bad_." Roslyn's heart hurt remembering that look in his eyes.

Eva scoffed, "If anyone's got it bad, it's you. But it's good that he wants to make sure he's ready before he just springs all of him on you." Roslyn agreed, "Yeah I don't have a problem waiting, I'm still finding my feet with all of this." Eva took a deep breath, "So, while you're waiting, I'm going to give you some advice." Eva cleared her throat and took on a teacherly air," Do not, at this moment or any time soon, think you are ready for him or that he's ready for you. What you need to do is get ready, ok? Think about what you want, what you are willing to do, what you won't do, your strengths and limits. That's a start, for now. Are you listening?" Roslyn rolled her eyes but heeded her words and uttered a sarcastic, "yes, ma'am."

Eva then added, "Also do some squats, stretch and stay hydrated because when he's ready? It's a wrap for you. And when that moment comes? Make sure you lay down a tarp, that's all I'm going to say!" "A tarp? why would--" Roslyn began then the insinuation hit her, "EVA! Jesus Christ! I got to go and you're going to hell!" Eva was rushing to ask before she got cut off, giggling, "Wait, before you go, do you know his birth time and location, yet?"

"BYE!" Roslyn ended the call by pressing the icon on her steering wheel and tried to think through the post-George haze to make the most of her Saturday. It had only been a couple of hours, a sliver of a fraction of what George spent waiting for her and it was already tortuous. Now that she had a taste of what she'd been putting off by dragging her feet, she had the urge to apologize to him again and maybe every day for the rest of her life. But she didn't want to bother him, their meeting sounded important and realistically, she was getting off easy. George assured her that'd he calls sooner, before the day was out.

She ended up at Target, needing more food for Mosey initially but ended up browsing like most people do. She bought a small notebook and saw a comically large mug for George. She'd forgotten to ask and didn't want to bother him as he was certainly busy by now. The mug set her off on a task for more provisions in case George slept over again, which she strongly hoped he would. She grabbed longer lounge pants and thin slippers, so his feet wouldn't get cold on the hardwood floor. Then there was a toothbrush, which she thought was maybe pushing it at first but added it to her cart happily after she had a small crisis in the sexual wellness aisle.

She didn't  _want_  to think about which size condoms he might use especially not in broad daylight. But Eva's voice rang in her ears as the soundtrack to her late-night memory of him standing at the foot of her bed. She allowed herself a moment to contemplate what that might be like but not too long, so she wouldn't torture herself. When it passed, she chose two boxes just for her peace of mind, tucking them under the slippers, headed straight to the check-out then home.

Mosey greeted her when she got there, sitting atop the folded blanket George had slept under and stayed perched watching Roslyn lay her purchases on the table. The first thing she did was tuck the condoms way in the back of a rarely used drawer in her office desk. "Extremely practical and efficient as ever, Rosie," she scolded herself, "better to have and not need and that jazz." She put George's slippers, toothbrush, and sweats in a more accessible spot and picked up around her place. She still had the assignment to knock out, so she gathered her notes and laptop and parked herself on the sofa to focus.

She had typed a few sentences analyzing the exhibit when it tickled her nose, a vaguely familiar but welcome scent. She shook it away and concentrated on completing her assignment. When she wrote the last sentence, and emailed it to Mr. Choi, she laid down on the blanket and cuddled mosey. George's woods and metallic scent was stuck it. Curling its way around and through her. She turned and buried her face in it, thinking of him and the future nights where she might have the real thing right next to until she fell into a nap.

Her phone buzzed sporadically on the table next to her but did not disturb her.

[The meeting went well...]

[When are you free?]

[This place looks good, the guys and I went a few months ago]

[No cognac-soaked sparrows (sad face emoji) is that a deal breaker?]

[I like you is that ok? I hope it will be.]


	6. we'll only keep it

Matty closed the lid on the macbook after the last note rang out and looked at his audience spread amongst the conference room. "That's where we are other than some fiddling with the sound quality on what you've just heard. There's roughly four songs left to record. All in all, we should have everything turned in for final mixing no later than first of November. If possible on short notice, we'd like to come back in a few weeks and play live for additional feedback." George then stood explaining some of the more technical details and answering questions before asking for a reference for a percussionist to come by the loft for a needling rhythm in his head.

They were milling about when the door opened then closed with a sharp click and Ross's eyes widened in horror. George had found an empty corner to text Rosie when he heard Ross cuss sharply under his breath before appearing next to him in a flash grabbing his arm roughly and spun him around. "Don't freak out and don't turn around. Margo just walked in, she's at the front talking to one of the lawyers. Are you alright?" "For fuck's sake, Ross!" George yanked his arm out of his grip, spilling some of his drink in the process before out his jacket and whispered in a strained voice, "I was fine until you pounced on me."

George was going to lay into him more but the legitimate concern on Ross's face stopped him. "Really, George, can you do this? Be in here with her? I can get you out, if you need me to," Ross offered gently. George didn't want that, to be guarded and carried off. Further, he could not let a distraction take him away from his work, the one constant that kept him from completely going under. He intended to keep his focus on that and hold his own out of her reach in the crowded room. Still, George heeded Ross's alarm and checked himself. His pulse had spiked, mostly from being startled by the man and a touch of irritation with this development. He did not feel the urge to flee nor that burning on his ears and neck he'd come to associate with Margo's existence. "I'm fine, Ross, five by five," George spoke calmly, thinking if the need arose, he had a few minutes of tenacity on tap. "Okay...," Ross eyed him carefully, "Let's see you say that when she gets here," taking a step aside and nodding his head to a point behind George.

Margo made quick work crossing the room, eyes focused on the back of George's head. She stopped one step away and touched his elbow gently, "Hello George." George turned around to lay his eyes Margo for the first time over a year only to find a vague likeness in her place. He wasn't foolish enough to think she stayed preserved in reality as the woman in his memory, but her newfound look was jarring to him. She'd replaced her shoulder-length soft waves with a severe bob that stopped just below her chin and dyed it an auburn color not far from her natural red. It enhanced, and dare he say, complimented her full cheeks and expressive, wide-set eyes. She wore an off-white silk blouse and trousers set accented by a long narrow black tie, all of which did well to make her look taller than she was. Then again, George's memory might have failed entirely because he could not tell if she was wearing heels or if he'd forgotten her height. She had always been stylish in a relaxed way but with this transformation, she looked cloistered and tense and it left George with the feeling of seeing a coiled snake ready to strike.

He straightened his spine, took a sip of his water and simply said, "Margo." He saw Matty out of the corner of his eye, face at full panic politely trying to escape his current conversation to make his way to George. Margo smirked at him, "It's so nice to see you, it's been too long." George nodded but disagreed about the length of time. If it were up to him, he would put a decade between their next meeting. She tossed a greeting at Ross who let it wither under his silent glare. The initial shock begun to wear off for George but the tight cold red smile on her face still troubled him. For a split second, he was transplanted back to their time together, when Margo's perfected pageantry would fool others and manipulate George, seemingly her primary objective.

Her voice sounded cordial to the untrained ear but under that icy civil tone, George detected a faint tremor, about a two on her Richter scale. Not devastating or life threatening, just enough to leave people questioning if it even happened at all. However, there was no doubt in George's mind, he felt it and braced himself accordingly. She was toying with him, playing at something and she wanted a spectacle.

George knew she wouldn't be able to sustain this façade much longer but reasoned she'd do her best. Their breakup didn't make too many waves for either of them professionally but socially, she took a critical hit since this was her frequented territory. That fact was likely the only thing keeping her in check currently. She couldn't start any shit here, not if she wanted to protect her standing. God knows what she had said in his absence, but he could guess based off some of the eyes in the room turning their way. This new encounter would be gossip kindling to all and he would not play a part in fanning the flames. She waved her hand in George's face to get his attention, George blinked away having not heard her previous sentence and raised his eyebrows. She cleared her throat, "You left some items at mine. I'll arrange a time for you to pick them up or better, give me your information, so I can have them delivered."

"Is that so," George asked, unable to mask the incredulity in his voice. She found, though more likely, created this thin reason thinking it would irresistible bait to him but it had the opposite effect. George was truly taken aback at her behavior, Margo may have changed her looks but not her mind or ways. The year that passed might as well have been a day since she fell right back into that pattern George hated so much. How she would go about ordering him to do things yet somehow convinced herself that she had asked. George, confused but ever compliant, would hop to! All too happy to please. Having the benefit of time and distance gave him clarity to see through it, but it also still pissed him off. Even more so as he told her in no uncertain terms that tactic of hers was one of many deciding factors in their breakup.

George searched his memory quickly but could not think of anything he was missing. He remembered feverishly ransacking her condo once he'd finally made up his mind to leave. How he was frantic, despondent and joyful all at once as he turned over every surface for all traces of his presence, even checking the junk drawer with the batteries and take-away menus. In many of the scenarios where he thought of what he would do if he saw Margo, he assumed either a hasty fearful retreat or worse, much worse, a resigned undignified crawl back to her.

He never thought he'd have the bearings about him to interact with her as he was doing now, and he never expected to laugh at her. The absurdity of his escape coupled with her pathetic bluff, infuriating habits, and how she needed something to hold over him. All of it caused a deep, sharp chuckle that began in his belly. George was honestly amused, but it took an acidic not that drew more attention their way. Had they been elsewhere, with this newfound nerve of his, he might have dragged this meeting on, make her list exactly what he'd left but his mirth, spontaneous as it was, moved that needle on her scale a hair to the right. Any further and she was liable to forget her composure as well as her surroundings. He would not allow nor subject himself or anyone else in the room to that.

So, pitiful ploy or no, he would yield for now. Though his doubts were many, he did not want to risk something of value being tossed out or worse, dangled in front of him forever, so she won that round too. However, her victory would be on his terms and she with the onus to meet them. He cleared his throat, "I'll inform the receptionist, if you have anything of mine, you can leave the items there. I'll arrange the delivery after that. Excuse me," George walked past her stopping Matty in his tracks who turned and followed in George's wake out of the room with Ross and Adam not far behind.

"What the fuck?" Ross, Adam, and Matty asked in unison when they made it to the elevator out of earshot and eyeline of the conference room. They descended silently, the guys doing their best not to look at George like he had grown another head, and George didn't let their pleading sideways stares bother him. He stopped at the receptionist's desk and left explicit instructions: contact must be made with him exclusively and not a shred of information about where he is to be given to anyone. It wasn't exactly a secret where they were staying as most bands often used the studio in their loft's basement. However, Margo, as a lawyer indirectly associated with the label, had no cause to know it. Further, she couldn't risk asking or snooping without raising eyebrows

George's thoughts turned back to Rosie's talk of possessions and connections. He didn't feel like anything lingered between he and Margo that needed finishing. Not once did he want to get back in touch with her after he'd left, a fact he was growing prouder of by the day. She never tried to reach him to his knowledge, though not putting it past her to hit up Matty who likely told her to exactly how and where she should fuck off. No, there was nothing left, and he was not going to hold his breath waiting for that call. His task at hand was to find a restaurant to take Rosie out to and doing so as quickly as possible, texting her to ask when she was free.

Matty removed his coat by the door, "Ok, George, you are not allowed to do fuck all until you tell us what that was." Adam piped up, "she looked like a UFO landed on her forehead as we walked out." "Who was that guy? Where was he for the last year?" Ross inquired. "And where you were last night!" Matty yelled, louder than he intended. Except for accounting for his whereabouts yesterday evening, he could not answer their questions, not in an easily distilled way. But he would try, he didn't want to keep anything from the people who helped him at his lowest.

George crashed into the couch rubbing his face, "First of all, she doesn't have one fucking thing of mine. I all but razed her condo from its foundation for everything from stray socks to broken drumsticks making sure nothing would be left behind. So, anything she says she has, it's a lie. She hid it, or she bought a copy of it or something equally shady." Matty was following him so far but he had more questions, "Why did you laugh at her?" George sighed, "It wasn't on purpose, I...," he took a moment to gather his thoughts, "When I was with her, it was always hard to gauge what was real and what she wanted me to believe was real. I questioned everything before I made any move and even then, I was never fully at ease. I guess now, being removed from her pull, I could see the strings and machinations that make her world work for her. Like the man behind the green curtain in the Wizard of Oz. All that power and mystique is gone."

Adam and Matty nodded to the sense of it, Ross spoke first, "You've never told us that before. I wish you had, maybe we could have helped more." George shook his head, "No, I mean, I should have leaned on you in a more constructive way. What occurred to me today, I did not know back then or even a month ago. Wouldn't have known how to even figure that out. I saw her lie and play games like that countless times, but this was the first where it had no effect on me. Something...changed."

Matty asked hopefully, "Is that something possibly related to where you were last night and whoever dropped you off this morning?" George rolled his eyes, seeing right through him, "real smooth, Matty, a flawless approach," laughing while Matty bowed to his audience. George started to answer but when he looked at his three closest friends hanging on for his word, he paused. He couldn't fully explain it, but he felt protective of his first night with Rosie and didn't want anything, including his big mouth, to spoil it but he had to give them something.

"I was with Roslyn. She texted long after you all left," George started and Matty nearly shouted and hurriedly asked more questions. George waved his hands to calm him down, "Well way after. I went down to the pier just to pass the time, get out of my own head. Still ended up moping if I'm honest when I heard my phone going off. She had been texting me all through the night until she invited me to a ramen shop near her apartment. We met there then went to her place. We talked, I slept over on the sofa. That's it. Oh, and I met her cat!"

Matty's eyebrows shot up, objecting to this condensed version of events, "That's it? Fuck off. You two," pointing at Adam and Ross, "did not see him when he got in this morning. The bastard gave her a big ass smooch then practically floated on a wave of cartoon hearts to the door. It was sick." Matty stuck his tongue out exaggerating his disgust then clapped his friend on the back, "Good for you!" "It wasn't a smooch, Matty! Just on the cheek. It was nice, we had a really..." George couldn't even finish, biting his lip as his face flushed with warmth. Ross summarized succinctly, "She must have gotten into you deep." George could only nod. "You going to bring her 'round?" Adam asked. "Well, I'm going to call her this week, try to set up a regular date. Which reminds me, Ross what was that place with the--"

Matty interjected, "That's not what he asked. We must meet this person who's got you all...what's that with the deer and the bunny? Twitterpated! You've got me saying baby nonsense words so no! You aren't keeping her from us. We don't bite!" Ross piped in, "Speak for yourself." Matty rolled his eyes, "Aww, poor Rossypoo, still smarting from her comment about your turtleneck? Had you put on a t-shirt, it might be you sitting here with stars in your eyes." Matty didn't feel Ross's attempt to stare daggers into the back of his skull when he exclaimed, "Really! You should bring her by, you don't have to go to a stuffy restaurant. We've got a grill, we can throw a movie on the projector. Ooh and a bonfire!"

George leaned back away from Matty, "I'd like to take her out a few times, make sure it's not a fluke before I sic you lot on her. Especially if you and fire are involved, Matty! I don't want to scare her off." More than that, George thought of her admission last night and could not imagine overwhelming her with an invitation just yet. "Ok, I will ask her...eventually, just give me some time with her ok?" Matty was skeptical but would let it ride for now, "Ok, don't let Labor Day come and I haven't seen her at least. You won't hear the end of it, I promise you."

George knew he would be held to that deadline, so he accepted, "Ross! That restaurant, they had a live Latin band and different meats? The name now!" "It's called Bosso or something," he called back over his shoulder as he went downstairs to practice. George took out his phone searching for the place yelling "Thank you!" He texted Rosie a link to the restaurant and made a joke about her ortolan obsession. The restaurant looked nearby to the cigar bar they were going to that evening, maybe he could slip away to scope it out before finalizing any plans with her.

George filled the late afternoon hours with practice in the studio, hoping to match the scattered chaos of his thoughts by beating on the drum. At the forefront of his mind was Margo, running into her was unpleasant but he was unexpectedly grateful for his new perspective. As hard as it was, and as deeply as he'd lost himself in it, he had to credit the year after breaking up with Margo as the longest period of being single in his dating history. Beyond that, George could not point to a discernible gap between one new girlfriend and the last. He didn't want to make any grand determinations, but perhaps, it was often that failure to give himself breathing room was at the root of the high turnover.

Even when the relationship survived longer than it should, it was doomed from the start. They never saw daylight due to George's tendency to drag in old shadows and failures. He never gave a thought to the unfairness of it all nor how to shed them, but he wanted to now. Especially if it meant he could be with Rosie but more than that, not fuck it up with her. That had to start with getting everything on the table about Margo. George still picked at those wounds but for the first time, he was determined to heal them himself not patch them up with a new, charming distraction. It would take time to hash out and for now, he would have to be satisfied with simply knowing what to do; the how and when would come later.

George crashed a cymbal before flicking a drumstick across the room, wiping a light sweat from his forehead then went upstairs to shower. He managed to wait until he toweled off before checking his phone to see that Rosie had not yet responded. He crafted a final message, apprehensive but daring to throw the dice as he pressed send and began dressing. He wouldn't deny being anxious to hear from her but felt a calm sense that it wouldn't be weeks before they spoke again. On a day full of being bold, he allowed himself the confidence the she'd call before the night was over. She wouldn't leave him on the vine like before. With that in mind, he couldn't remember the last time he had been looking forward to hanging out with his mates, so he wasn't going to ruin it being tied to his phone all night. Truthfully, there wasn't that much difference between their last night out and this one. Ross would dole out his usual skeeve routine and manage to fail upwards and Matty would pretend like he wasn't texting his own girlfriend all night. Nothing at all was different except George himself.


	7. to believe we're falling

The sun had long set by the time Roslyn woke up. She sat up blinking her blurry eyes before startling with a panic and grasping for her computer. "Did I actually press send?" scrambling to her email, thankful to see it had gone out, "I always love giving myself a mini heart attack for no damn reason." She set her laptop down, stretching and standing up with a sudden burst of energy, feeling slight regret at wasting most of the day. She lacked the desire to do herself up for a night out but needed to get out if only for a while. She changed into sweats and tee and laced up her shoes, shoving her earbuds and phone into her pocket as she left her apartment, heading first for the dispensary then the wine shop.

She always liked to walk, in the evenings when the streets were vibrant with life. When she first started looking to move to the city, she wanted a market, good and quick takeaway, and some form of entertainment within a few blocks. She didn't want to be isolated, cramped and relying on her car for the essentials and battling for parking. She had that back home and being enclosed, wasting gas and being at the mercy of oblivious drivers made her itch. She didn't entirely escape those drivers in L.A. either but a few nights a week, she could explore on foot, get turned around and back again with a friendly smile from a stranger or eager puppy. Along the way, she found new (to her) hole in the walls, inspiration and introspection on those walks, each step clearing her mind as she etched her new territory into her bones.

Her mind wasn't entirely clear this evening, it was filled with George. She remembered Eva's "homework" for her, to think about what she wants and needs in a relationship. Whether that would be with George was yet to be determined, but it wouldn't hurt to consider the possibility. She would call it companionship for the moment, not finding herself ready to consider beyond that. She hadn't been lonely or without romantic attention since her arrival, but results were middling. Some of the guys were certified duds but she attributed her failure to unfamiliarity and floundering in a new dating pool. Plus, she always missed the cues for when she should swoon or be impressed, and unable to fake when she did pick them up.

George was a contender in theory so far, standing out above anyone she could hope to meet anytime soon. It would be difficult to not get ahead of herself thinking a relationship or really anything with him was a sure thing. The variables and obstacles alone were daunting. Still, she couldn't ignore the flutters and hints, she felt something for him, felt it the entire previous night and it pulled at her when she dropped him off that morning. Even now in the dusky light, she imagined George walking next to her, debating that night's strain and making a pit stop at the Pitt Stop, a doggy day care she'd found her first week in town. Probably not the most exciting idea of a date but one she wanted all the same.

She pulled her mind away from her thoughts and realized she missed a turn or two to the dispensary and had to check the map on her phone, unlocking it to see several missed texts from him. Standing next to the light pole on the curb of an intersection, she read his messages quickly and repeatedly. It was impossible not to hear them in his deep accented drawl and blushed warmly at the last one, questioning liking her. She was struck and beaming, delighted but wondering what made him say that. Part of her would have been happy to have it linger between them more, both knowing it undeniably and letting it unfurl naturally but...confirmation was good too. It freed them both from having to dance around it and Roslyn could relax for once, stop second guessing herself.

His dinner choice was impressive, Bosso was on everyone's to eat list that she knew of and was dying to go. The opportunity was right in front of her and wouldn't let Bosso's perpetually packed state dim her excitement. What did dampen it was full her schedule and that she wouldn't be going as soon as she'd liked. She read George's messages one last time then decided it would be best to give him bad news first and pressed the call button to deliver it directly. It rang and rang...ringing for too long until he picked up at last and yelled, "Rosie!" 

She leaned away from the phone forgetting the buds firmly nestled in her ears, "Hello? George?!" George's voice and the background noises were booming, "Hi, my Rosie, Roslyn, Rosie, it's George!" She giggled earning a sideways look from the occupants in the car stopped at the who continued gawking when she yelled back, "Hi! I know, I called  _you!_ " There was a long pause and some shuffling before he spoke again, "Right, sorry, we're out celebrating and such." "Oh, then get off the phone, go have a good time!" Rosie heard more shuffling and then Ross followed by silence, "No, it's just loud in there, we're at...god I don't actually know the name but it's nice, good drinks and cigars and stuff like that. What are you up to?"

"I'm," Roslyn looked down at her concert tee, joggers and sneakers, feeling stray curls sticking to her sweaty neck and felt underdressed for a phone call with George Daniel, "I'm standing on the corner a few blocks from my place, about to go buy weed and maybe a lasagna and gummies." "Are you really?" George was amused. "Yes, I'm quite a sight, there's some people staring at me because I look like I'm talking to myself but yeah, that's my Saturday," she found the right directions, then crossed at the signal before asking, "You said the meeting went well?"

George sucked in air and walked further away from the table, "Yeah it did then...well, firstly I hadn't eaten since before I met up with you. They had these mini quiches and fruit, so that barely lasted a minute before I inhaled them. Between that and nerves about other people hearing our work, my stomach was a wreck. That part never gets easier. Anyway, it was great, well received with encouraging feedback. We're excited and proud but we still have a lot of work to do."

"I'm sure it was amazing," Rosie offered brightly though she thought he sounded a little off. She always imagined musicians practically breathless talking about their new material, but he was tired, maybe even dejected. Rosie corrected herself, "I'm know you were," hoping to perk him up. George held his phone to his chest and made his way through the crowd to the humidor, closing the door behind him, "You still there? I snuck into the cigar closet, I wanted to hear you better. Oh, I think I saw the cigarettes you were smoking that night, I can buy a pack for you if you want them."

"Would you mind? I might have three left, even though I don't need them, but they're good for an evening on the balcony." "Or on the couch with a stranger," George interjected. "That too," her heart rate picking up from more than her brisk walking pace, "Just hold onto them until we go on our date, ok?" Rosie squealed unexpectedly then covered her face with her hand. "Oh, so you did get my messages?" he asked with a smirk in his voice, "I thought it might be another two weeks before I got a reply from you." "Oy, I'm not going to live that down, am I?" Rosie groaned.

"No, love, you have. I mean I knew...hoped? No, fuck it, I knew I'd hear from you soon," George revealed. Rosie chuckled, "Confident, aren't we?" "George bit his lip, "I have no basis for it but yes, something like that." "So, I wasn't avoiding you this time, Georgie, I was taking a much-needed nap. I was so tired from you running through my mind all day." George winced then laughed, "That's the other way around, you know? I'm the one that's supposed to be tired? From all the running?" George giggled loudly. "My version is better," her voice squeaking a bit, "And yes, I got your messages. I read them right before I called."

George held back until he couldn't bear it, "Well?!" asking urgently. "Of course, it's ok! It's more than ok. I like you too, I like...this! Whatever it is so far. It's mad but good, it feels right," Rosie admitted. She didn't know she was going to say all of that, but she didn't regret it other than practically yelling it at him. "You can't know how happy I am to hear that from you, Rosie," George exclaimed. Rosie was happy to tell him, but it was undercut by the catch in his voice Something was bothering him and now, by extension, her too and she was unable to ignore it further, "Good, that's settled. Can I ask if you're ok? I don't know you well enough to say this, but you sound...different."

George sighed, thinking he had hid it well. He was able to get into the festivities gleefully at first, but something settled over him about an hour into their night, causing him to throw back more drinks to stave it off. But he recalled his plan earlier and didn't want to fail at it so quickly. "I didn't know how to tell you. I still don't. When I said earlier that I knew you call, it was a hope, truly but I knew that when you'd call, I'd feel better and I could put this out of my head. At the meeting, after the important bits were done, my ex showed up...  _that_ ex. The one I... you know."

Rosie stopped mid-step and gasped unintentionally, "Oh my god, how awful! Did you talk to them? What did you do? Are you okay? Sorry I keep asking that." George released the breath he held unconsciously, finding relief in her concern for him. "It was startling, but I reacted better than I could have planned. We exchanged words, it wasn't heated because others were around. It was fine,  _I_ was fine actually. I think I shocked the shit out of everyone with how "fine" I was. I felt triumphant almost and that feeling until we got home but the adrenaline has worn off. I have to admit seeing her rattled me, Rosie."

Rosie huddled next to the entrance to the dispensary and just listened as George continued, "Seeing her, it's making me reevaluate some things, taking a hard look at things I never questioned before. Some of it about the ex but most of it is about me. And this isn't bad of course but after I pulled that thread to its end, I realized wanted to talk to you about it. About my day and all. I haven't had that in a while, someone I could turn to besides the guys or my own fucked up internal thought processes. But I am worried though because I don't know how to start telling it. I'm anxious as hell." George stopped abruptly.

Rosie waited a moment longer, hoping he'd say more but when the line stayed still, she spoke, "I'm so sorry that you saw them today. Really. My heart hurt hearing just the little you shared last night. I can tell there's more to it, but you take your time. Believe me, I know exes can be rough," Rosie shook her head to stop her own horror stories from taking over. "That conversation doesn't have to happen right now. We can just make dinner plans, ok?" Rosie searching the silence on the other end of the line.

After some time, George sighed deeply, "Ok...ok. Thank you for this..." He sounded a degree better than before. "George, stop," Rosie wished to herself she was with him. George laughed dryly to himself, "I'm not sure why I'm so dramatic and maudlin about it, it's not even the most unique story but I-I want to have a clean slate, as it were, if you and I are going to—" George paused, feeling himself tiptoe back into the thick of it if he weren't careful. Rosie sensed potential in that pause and had her guesses as to what he might have said but wouldn't put the words in his mouth.

George cleared his throat, "The last I'll say for now, what it comes to is that you were one my mind all day, and before today too. I couldn't stop thinking about how special last night was. And then to run right into my past, I realized I'm a little deprived. I just like how I feel about you and I want to make sense of it all. God, I even talked to the guys about you again." Rosie choked at this revelation, "George, I'm going to break you out of that habit if it's the only thing I accomplish in this life," she chuckled and so did he. 

"I can't help it! But don't worry! I didn't tell them everything, I think I barely said four sentences total. Believe me, I was delicate about it. They pieced it together based off the big stupid grin on my face. I'll try to tone it down." George held off on extending Matty's invitation to their loft, saving it for after the date, figuring she's had enough shock for the moment. "I'm just teasing you and being kind of bratty. I don't mind. It's just crazy from my side of it." Rosie stomach was doing flips. George breathed deeply with relief, "Good. Well what do you think of Bosso, would you like to go say this Friday?"

Rosie groaned, the last half hour on the phone had put delivering the bad news out of her mind, "So, the dinner. I meant to tell you right when you picked up, and this isn't ideal, I know, But I'm not going to be able to this Friday. I have to push it to the right. "Must you?" George asked her so softly she almost gave in immediately. "I have to, it's unavoidable. I'm finishing up a project and have articles due. Believe me, I'd love to sooner, right now if it were possible, but I know that placing is teeming right about now. Besides, any sooner and I'll be too wrung to go out with you. I don't want to be exhausted or in a foul mood, that's no way to go on a date. I want to be fresh as a daisy for it."

George chuckled and relaxed his tense shoulders, "So, not fresh as a rose?" Rosie chuckled dryly, "See now, you roasted me earlier for making up my own saying but when I say the proper one, you want to make up your own now? I can't keep up with you," Rosie giggled and was glad to hear him laughing for a moment. "Ok, so no dinner this weekend..." George's voice caught in his throat. He couldn't lie to himself, the reality of more than a week going by without seeing her stung, remembering vividly his first round of clock watching. But, "later" didn't mean "never" and there was no way they wouldn't at least speak before then, "So, we're looking at the Friday after next?" Just then Ross appeared in front of George outside the humidor, beckoning him to come out while craning his neck to look beyond where George could see.

"Yes, dinner on the next next Friday, no later than Saturday. You can be my reward for good behavior," making George laugh. Rosie finally entered the dispensary, smiling for a different reason than their current patrons and began browsing. Rosie felt the urge to toss her obligations to the side, but she didn't know how to. She knew herself, she'd go mad without something deadline looming over her. She also knew she would want to see George before then, bad mood or no. She paused in front of the gummy robots and said, "You know, dinner's one thing but we could do something else before then...," Rosie began.

"I thought you just said, 'good behavior' I heard that correctly?" George chided her emerging rebellious streak, "But go on, I will not stop you." "I just thought we could do something less...loaded than a big dinner date before then. We could hang out somewhere that's not my couch, low key, you know. Let's see," Rosie racked her brain for something resembling this hasty idea of hers, not too formal, no pressure or gussying up required when it hit her. "Oh! Have you ever been to the Vista or the New Bev?"

George waved off Ross making faces at him from outside the humidor, "No, what are those?" He held up a finger at being summoned so they could head to the next venue. "Oh, they're movie theaters! They do limit releases and themed nights. You do like movies, right?" "Of course! I've just never been, never heard of them." George was thrilled at his turn of luck and just a bit embarrassed. There was so much of L.A. he hadn't seen though he had more than enough time for it.

"Good, I thought I would have to disown you, So, one of those theaters programmed 80s movies and a full day The Labyrinth. I already planned to go because I love that movie but...we could do that? Have you seen the Labyrinth, Georgie?" "I know it has David Bowie and that's enough for me." George replied and remarked the diminutive as Ross stared at him intently, debating the merits of breaking the glass and dragging George out. George figured out that there must be a woman behind Ross' eagerness to leave, a surprise to no one.

"That's enough for everyone, really. Ok, well this is promising, even if I might fall asleep on you after Magic Dance," Rosie checked out and left the store. "I'll find out the days it's showing and call you for that and the let you know when I'm better on when to do dinner."

George smirked and relayed Ross' ire to Rosie, "Ross is frowning at me, so I'd better leave now, but listen," he paused and turned his back to Ross and for reasons unknown to him, a man in a room by himself, whispered, "Don't wait until you know the showtimes before you call me, ok? Call whenever you want and whenever you think I want you to. Good night, love." He hung up before she could respond, walked out of the humidor and threw his arm over Ross shoulder leading them out of the bar. Roslyn was surprised by his sudden departure but promised to herself she would do just that.


	8. when we leave our bodies

His phone rang phone just after dawn on Monday only George until he didn’t wake until mid-morning. He laid in bed with sheets twisted around his waist and pressed play on a voicemail she'd left. Rosie talking him through her routine, throwing in Mosey's vibrant purrs and wishing him a good day.

George didn’t know what, if anything, he and the guys would get up to and he laid there wrestling with himself to not bug her yet on her early and likely much busier morning. George considered that impulse a residual habit of his younger self. He would call at the slightest hint of attention and elbow his way to be a new fling’s top priority.

Their respective obligations and the physical distance would do well to keep George within his self-imposed barriers. Being eager was the quickest way to set the whole matchbook on fire. He exhausted the tiniest flicker to blow up her phone with a few hours of practice guaranteed to keep his itchy hands busy.

When he took a break, much to his dismay, he missed the slivers of free time she had to text him, but he kept his responses minimal, strictly on topic and didn’t call her back once the rest of the day.

He learned the next morning that his seemingly terse replies sent with good intentions had given Rosie the wrong impression. She sent a single text with an apology for how often she’d hit him up the day before, explaining she was excited but could tone it down. He called back right away catching her in traffic.

“Hello?” Rosie answered warily. “Hey, I don’t want to keep you long but _don’t_ do that.” George started. “Do what?” her confusion apparent as George derailed her train of thought from that day’s tasks. “Apologize for something I asked of you,” George admonished through a stern but playful tone surprising Rosie who melted into a giggle, “have a good day, love,” then hung up.

So, she stole as many moments she could get away with, sneaking away to a back room or hidden corner of a gallery. She almost got caught when George facetimed Ross’s attempt at the drums. The sound could best be described as be an angry cat using another angry cat as a drumstick and she said as much forgetting she was on speaker. Ross overheard and launched one of George’s own drumsticks at him, narrowly missing his head.

The pre-dawn calls resumed as the week went on with George fondly anticipating them. If he was lucky enough to pick up, he rarely said anything, simply happy to be her audience of one to her morning rituals.

Rosie called after settling in for the evening sounding weary still with a lilt in her voice and their conversation soon became a marathon. Both eagerly talking over the other, asking a million questions about everything from first crushes to embarrassing adolescence style and their weirdest food cravings. She’d recall her weird dreams and pass along a co-worker’s story sprinkled with her commentary.

They were conversations about nothing but with an undercurrent of a tango. George felt himself being drawn in each night and made himself sparse in the house. Not that he had anything to hide from the other guys, but he wanted to stay cocooned in the bubble they built. Rosie displayed a raw curiosity, asking about him without a hint of seeking a flaw or fault. George couldn’t help but be charmed.

Worse, he couldn’t help wanting to see her, that little flicker craning to justify a reason to have their nightly conversation in person. But Rosie beat him to the punch surprising him by calling later than usual, already half asleep from a long day. “If I could manage to keep myself awake long enough,” she paused for a yawn, “I’d ask you to come over. It’d be worth missing my alarm in the morning.”

George sat up on his bed hurried, “You can’t do that, not for me.” even though he _absolutely_ wanted hours of her curled up next to him before that alarm rang. Unluckily for them both, her light snoring not a minute later cut his dream short so he wished her good night.

The night before their movie, they strayed onto a sensitive topic they had mostly avoided so far. Rosie absent-mindedly mentioned the fiancé she’d left behind and a few flings from her first months in the city. She talked about them in a light and untroubled way and George felt a pang of jealousy, maybe he could have met her sooner but that was just the surface. In the center of his envy was the fact that he could never see himself talking about Margo in that same way.

_Margo_...

His phone rang phone just after dawn on Monday only George until he didn’t wake until mid-morning. He laid in bed with sheets twisted around his waist and pressed play on a voicemail she'd left. Rosie talking him through her routine, throwing in Mosey's vibrant purrs and wishing him a good day.

George didn’t know what, if anything, he and the guys would get up to and he laid there wrestling with himself to not bug her yet on her early and likely much busier morning. George considered that impulse a residual habit of his younger self. He would call at the slightest hint of attention and elbow his way to be a new fling’s top priority.

Their respective obligations and the physical distance would do well to keep George within his self-imposed barriers. Being eager was the quickest way to set the whole matchbook on fire. He exhausted the tiniest flicker to blow up her phone with a few hours of practice guaranteed to keep his itchy hands busy.

When he took a break, much to his dismay, he missed the slivers of free time she had to text him, but he kept his responses minimal, strictly on topic and didn’t call her back once the rest of the day.

He learned the next morning that his seemingly terse replies sent with good intentions had given Rosie the wrong impression. She sent a single text with an apology for how often she’d hit him up the day before, explaining she was excited but could tone it down. He called back right away catching her in traffic.

“Hello?” Rosie answered warily. “Hey, I don’t want to keep you long but _don’t_ do that.” George started. “Do what?” her confusion apparent as George derailed her train of thought from that day’s tasks. “Apologize for something I asked of you,” George admonished through a stern but playful tone surprising Rosie who melted into a giggle, “have a good day, love,” then hung up.

So, she stole as many moments she could get away with, sneaking away to a back room or hidden corner of a gallery. She almost got caught when George facetimed Ross’s attempt at the drums. The sound could best be described as be an angry cat using another angry cat as a drumstick and she said as much forgetting she was on speaker. Ross overheard and launched one of George’s own drumsticks at him, narrowly missing his head.

The pre-dawn calls resumed as the week went on with George fondly anticipating them. If he was lucky enough to pick up, he rarely said anything, simply happy to be her audience of one to her morning rituals.

Rosie called after settling in for the evening sounding weary still with a lilt in her voice and their conversation soon became a marathon. Both eagerly talking over the other, asking a million questions about everything from first crushes to embarrassing adolescence style and their weirdest food cravings. She’d recall her weird dreams and pass along a co-worker’s story sprinkled with her commentary.

They were conversations about nothing but with an undercurrent of a tango. George felt himself being drawn in each night and made himself sparse in the house. Not that he had anything to hide from the other guys, but he wanted to stay cocooned in the bubble they built. Rosie displayed a raw curiosity, asking about him without a hint of seeking a flaw or fault. George couldn’t help but be charmed.

Worse, he couldn’t help wanting to see her, that little flicker craning to justify a reason to have their nightly conversation in person. But Rosie beat him to the punch surprising him by calling later than usual, already half asleep from a long day. “If I could manage to keep myself awake long enough,” she paused for a yawn, “I’d ask you to come over. It’d be worth missing my alarm in the morning.”

George sat up on his bed hurried, “You can’t do that, not for me.” even though he _absolutely_ wanted hours of her curled up next to him before that alarm rang. Unluckily for them both, her light snoring not a minute later cut his dream short so he wished her good night.

The night before their movie, they strayed onto a sensitive topic they had mostly avoided so far. Rosie absent-mindedly mentioned the fiancé she’d left behind and a few flings from her first months in the city. She talked about them in a light and untroubled way and George felt a pang of jealousy, maybe he could have met her sooner but that was just the surface. In the center of his envy was the fact that he could never see himself talking about Margo in that same way.

_Margo_...

“Fuck!” he exclaimed cutting Rosie off. “George,” Rosie startled with concern at his outburst, “Are you ok?” George didn’t answer, racking his brain, replaying what he said and wondering how he omitted this. Exes had come up, numerous times, he regaled her with first girlfriends and even the casual stalker that Matty took point on and got their management involved. He mentioned _that_ but somehow forgot to tell her about Margo?

Forgetting Margo is unfamiliar territory but maybe a sign. _She’s becoming_ just _an ex, no longer an omen_ , George thought but he didn’t know if he should conjure that. He took a deep breath and answered, “Yeah sorry, I got lost for a second.” Rosie sat up against her headboard, “Ok,” trailing off. He sounded more than lost to her but she wouldn’t press.

George calculated what he should say and how to begin before finding some courage, “So, do you remember that meeting a while back where I saw my ex? I was going to leave it as it didn’t seem urgent because we’re not dating. You know, we’re new, so it can wait. This past week, Rosie I’ve discovered that I like you... _a lot_ but in a way that I don’t have a comparison. I like you too much to keep anything from you.”

George groaned frustrated with himself repeating, “I don’t want to keep anything from you and so far, I haven’t had a reason to until now when my ex popped into my mind like a big neon billboard and I _hesitated_. Because not once in the last week and a half have I thought of her. It wasn’t a conscious effort, it simply did not happen. Talking with you, I can tell you’re smart, intuitive, way you pick up on things…you talk to me in a way so few people do.

“Do you realize you have not asked me about our music at all? It’s not a boundary that I set but you respected it anyway. Do you know how many strangers don’t? Blasting me or Matty with questions when we’re just getting our coffee or minding our own. That’s the most important part of my life but not a whisper from _you_ , you want something more…different and I always want to give that to you, without obstruction and unyielding.

I’ve not had that before, that weightless pull towards to someone who’s just open, not demanding. So, when I finally hit a snag, I froze _. I don’t like that_. And I think it’s because I feel terrible, guilty. That I’m so enamored with you and distancing myself from that time in my life. I regret not telling you more about us--I mean my ex and me. The only way I can rectify that before we go further is to get it out, absolve myself somehow. Because I feel something for you Rosie and I am _desperate_ to not fuck this up.”

She exhaled her held breath, “George,” aiming to be reassuring, “I’m going to break it to you: you’re going to fuck up and I’m _definitely_ going to fuck up but it’s not happened yet. It’s been unfucked from the start. And you said it just now, this is new. We’re feeling each other out, no definitions or commitments. I think we want the same thing but it’s going to take _time_. Like, we haven’t even kissed yet, and I’ll be candid, I’m looking forward to that,” she giggled and added, “very much so,” making George chuckle too.

Hearing George’s subdued laugh eased Rosie’s worry and gave her an idea. “I’m making a call: starting this minute, soul baring, exes, heartbreak, mistakes and trauma, all of it is under a complete embargo for…” Rosie pulled the phone from her ear to check the time, “let’s say 36 hours. At noon the day after tomorrow, you can tell me everything and I won’t stop you. But until then, let’s go to the movies, share a popcorn and or some chocolate, be anxious little flirts without any of that hanging over us. Can you do that?”

She paused hopeful that her words got through to him. A minute passed before she heard George’s relieved sigh, “I can.” he replied a moment later, “wait noon?” George checked his watch, “shit, it’s late, love, get to bed, we’ll talk in the morning.”

* * *

Rosie huffed and puffed carrying the large box of canvas and film to her trunk. The instructor let them cut out early and Roslyn chose to be grateful rather than asking for a reason. Now, there was enough time to relax a bit before getting ready. Luck allowed her to snag resold tickets for the midnight movie, so she wanted to be out the door and in line no later than 10. After getting everything loaded she climbed into the driver’s seat and blasted cold air and dialed George.

George heard a loud wind blowing before Rosie exclaimed, “Have I told you how much I love A.C.? it’s the greatest invention of our age. Anyway, I’m off, they cut us out just now. I thought to come scoop you up, but traffic is going to be a beast soon and we’d both be scrambling to get ready, so I texted you the time and address to meet around 11. I was thinking, I’ll drive to the theater, you uber over then I’ll drop you off after?”

“Oh, you’ve thought of it all already?” George chuckled at her efficiency, his voice booming through her car’s speaker system making her lower the volume. “That’s kind of a far drive, there and back to yours.” “Eh, it won’t be that bad after 2am. Besides, driving at night is--” Rosie caught herself before saying _romantic_ , “it, um, gives you a different feel of the city.”

“Then it’s settled,” George relented, seeing that it meant more time with her. “Good! And I can’t help it, I’m a planner,” Rosie proud and defensive of her ability to pull things together. George rushed to say, “No, I like it. We’d still be thinking of something to do were it up to me.” 

Rosie bit her the inside of her cheek, “I have to confess, I, uh, got a lot taken care of this week. Crammed some things and knocked others off my plate so we could do this tonight,” Rosie admitted.

George stuttered, “I hope you didn’t rush on my account. I mean I want to see you too, but you have commitments, as do I. We can reschedule anytime.” He didn’t think he could bear a delay but would find a way through.

“Well, most of it is for me,” Rosie countered, “taking classes in the summer is paying off. I’m ahead of schedule with my portfolio and could be shortlisted for an internship in the fall.” Rosie paused to lower the air, “but I’m also drained. I jumped right into school after the move and have been going nonstop ever since. I hardly did anything fun this summer. The party I met you at was a one off.”

“I had it set that I didn’t care that I missed the first summer, _I’ll make it up next year_ , you know, but things changed. You came onto the scene and...so, I want to enjoy what’s left. If that takes a little extra nose to the grindstone to get to the good stuff, so be it.” Rosie finished.

George grinned hard, delighted hearing she was thinking of him this way. He composed himself physically but couldn’t keep the glee from his voice when he told her to drive safe and ended the call. When he hopped off the bed to go shower he had a little spring in his step.

* * *

George exited the Uber hearing Rosie calling his name but not seeing her, getting turned around until he saw her in the front third of the line. Rosie’s wearing a cute yellow romper and a big smile beckoning him over. George jogs and greets her with a big hug his hand lingered on her waist a moment too long.

He coughs and awkwardly squeezes past planting his back on the wall, shoving his hands into his pockets. “Have you been waiting long?” “Not even an hour, you’re just in time, the other screening should be letting out soon,” Rosie answered and eyed his stiff pose suspiciously then dismissed it, thinking it was nerves. He was similarly rigid the night they met but relaxed eventually, no reason to think he wouldn’t do the same.

Rosie slipped in and stood next to him, their arms touching from shoulder to elbow, “Did I tell you I was looking forward to you?” George shifted and chuckled confused, “ _to me_ in general or doing something with me?” Rosie cursed her racing tongue but decided to own the flub, “I said what I said.”

George was a bit thrown off but rolled with it, though he had one quibble, “Most people say, “ _to seeing you”_ or something like that, but looking forward just me, huh?” George turned and looked down at her. Rosie managed only a slight nod in response in the warmth of his stare before he looked away to the ambling cars on the street and he bit his lip, “I like that.” 

They stood silently until the previous show’s crowd had dispersed then she led him in by hand to seats center in the screen towards the back. George relaxed in the dark cool room and tried not to fidget while Rosie went to the concession stand. He relaxed when she returned just before the previews.

Roslyn was livelier at the movies than she thought she’d be. She danced and sang along with other moviegoers as lyrics and lines she hadn’t heard in years came pouring out of her mouth. She tried to get George to join in, but he clamped himself up in his seat and urged her to enjoy herself.

She sat back down when the movie’s pace slowed to the masquerade ball, slyly resting her head on his shoulder and intertwining their hands. “God, I was fucking obsessed with this ball,” Rosie uttered dreamily. George spent the rest of the film watching the screen glitter in her eyes. He didn’t dare move until the house lights turned on and they stood to exit the auditorium.

“Ooh! Wait for me,” Rosie tapped his arm, “I have _got_ to go,” she announced running to the ladies’ room leaving George stranded in the lobby before he too took off to the men’s. He finished and returned to wait in the spot Rosie had left him until she bounded out, “God, I can think again! You ready?”

George reconnected their hands and used his height to guide them through the thick crowd of attendees into the fresh, open night air. “I’m parked a couple blocks away. That was fun, it’s been forever since I’ve seen that. Did you like it?”

George liked the watching her and reveling in her excitement, but he fumbled for a less cloying response, “I loved the music, what was that song at the ball?” “Oh, um, _World Falls Down_. It’s ok if you didn’t like it. It is rather _strange_ for a children’s movie, but I adore it. I pretty much drove my mother crazy watching it on tape when I was little.”

“No, it was fine, I did like it. That song was gorgeous, and the puppets were cool. I’d want a Ludo of my own.” “Ross doesn’t count?” Rosie asked before bursting out in a laugh that soon infected George, “Ludo is precious. The ones who take off their heads still freak me out.” Rosie shuddered.

I must tell Ross you think he’s a hairy beast,” George giggled and shied away when Rosie tried to slap his arm. “Hey! you have GOT to stop telling him the shady shit I say...and I suppose I need to watch my mouth too. At least I didn’t call him Hoggle!” giving George another fit imagining Ross dressed as the character. “That would break him, but I won’t say anything,” George promised holding up his hands in surrender.

“Anyway, I’m glad you got to see it but you can pick the movie next time,” she offered.

“I thought our next outing is Bosso, right?” George asked.

“ _Outing?_ ” Rosie repeated raising her eyebrows at his word choice. George blushed before correcting himself, “Shall I call it a date?” Rosie nodded her approval.

“Ok, a date it is. I wanted to wait until I met up with you tonight, but I got ahead of myself and called a few days ago. Now if you know about Bosso, without a reservation, even on a good day, you can wait for a table for several hours, so I made two. There’s Friday at 8 and Saturday at 7. Do you have a preference?”

“Friday! That way we can spend the rest of the weekend laid out digesting in a daze. I can get Mosey to knead our stomachs.” George tucked away the idea of heading back to hers, somehow, he hadn’t considered it before. “We’ll need a lot of recovery. This place really doesn’t fuck around with the quantity of food, it shouldn’t be legal. Not to tell you what to do, but you don’t want to wear anything too tight. I might wear a caftan myself!”

“A caftan, George?!” She stopped and laughed to herself. George looked at her sideways, “Is that funny?” Rosie caught her breath, “I’m sorry, I got this picture in my head of you showing up in gaudy sparkly caftan. It just tickled me.”

She mulled it over, “That’s not a bad idea, I should get one too. I’ll take anything that would prevent me having a breakdown raiding my closet. You don’t want to know how long it took me to pick this out,” Rosie waved at her outfit dismissively.

George followed her hand’s path down and calculated how quickly he could take it off before coming back to his senses. Clearing his throat, “I have some nice ones I got overseas, maybe in Turkey? They’re comfortable and not flashy at all. I’ll send you a picture later.”

They had been walking for a good while and George checked their surroundings. It was much darker being so far away from the bustling theater, only ambient light from distant street lamps and home lit their way. They walked wordlessly for another block, shoulders grazing and giving each other shy side smiles. This could be a good spot, the moment, George thought.

Instead George cleared his throat, “You know, since we might be out of commission after, I’ll arrange a car to take us, so you don’t drive around in a food coma.” “Oh, you don’t have to do that. It’s between us both but closer to me than I thought,” Rosie protested, “It wouldn’t be a problem to meet you there instead of having you pass it then double back. That’s crazy.”

“You really are a planner, huh?” George asked amused once again. She made sense but with the idea firmly planted in his mind, he grew more determined to see it actualize. George stopped in front of her and caught her eyes, his voice taking on a serious tone. “Rosie, it’s a date, our first date and for me, the first time in too long where I can…,” He shook his head, “look, you wouldn’t know this yet but I’m kind of a softie and I like _some_ of the clichés.”

“Picking you up, taking you out, flirting with you, maybe get you a little tipsy and enjoying ourselves? Nowhere _close_ to an inconvenience. All of that and _more_ would be entirely my pleasure. Just... _indulge me_ this once, and don’t think about the logistics of it. Be ready by 7, ok?”

Maybe it was a trick of the light, but he looked taller to Rosie, not awkward and slouching. George at his full height with this commanding but gentle, if not slightly _pleading_ , tone was effective, Rosie conceded with a whisper, “Ok, I’ll be outside mine at 5 ‘til.”

George barked out a laugh and bent at the waist, “Wow, I really thought I made my case. I had my stern face on, too! I usually only reserve that for Matty.” Rosie was confused before realizing what she had said and covering her face in shame, whining, “I’m sorry! I’m a believer of ‘if you’re early, you’re on time.” It’s in my DNA, I can’t _help_ it!”

“I’m only teasing but try ok? It’s not a bad principle to follow but I will not have you stood on the curb like a loiterer, I just won’t have it.” George swept stray curls from her forehead then smoothly clasped their hands together and got them walking again, “So, one last time: you stay inside, I’ll knock on your door at 7, and we get in the car. It’s best we hash out the details out now so there’s less confusion on the day. Oh, and if I’m not there at 7 on the dot, do not come outside. Just wait, ok?”

Rosie gave him a withering look before standing at attention giving him a playful salute, “I got it, I promise,” not being able to fight the smile on her face. “Ooh, I’m over there,” Rosie fished for her keys in her purse making the alarm chirp and the engine turn over. Roslyn walked to the driver’s side, calling over her shoulder as she put her purse in the backseat, “Do you make a big fuss about holding doors open?”

“It’s a courtesy but since we’re negotiating, I can skip it if you want,” George replied as he climbed in the passenger side as Rosie got behind the wheel. “Doesn’t bother me. However,” she paused and turned away to grasp the seatbelt, “I _demand_ you lay your suit jacket over as many puddles as you can find. Deal?”

When Rosie turned to back buckle the belt, she almost head-butted George not having heard him shift in the leather seat to lean on the center console. George kept his eyes locked onto hers as he wrapped his hand around her wrist creeping his fingers up to the buckle to remove it from her palm.

When the belt snapped back into place, Rosie gasped and flinched. The air in the car was stifling from the late summer’s heat even at the late hour. She moved as little as possible to keep breathing through it, drawing the stagnant air deep into her lungs slowly. George hadn’t said a word only looking into her eyes. The heat and his cologne clouded the more reserved of her senses, making her want to give into instinct. But the look, _the intent_ , in George’s eyes told her to her remain still. Subconsciously, she knew if she endured, he would reward her patience.

George felt her eyes following him as he leans in closer, charming her warm cheek and cupped his palm below her ear. His fingertips made a tender fist around the curls near her nape then craned her head backwards until she was looking up through the sunroof. The moon surrounded by translucent clouds and stars was the last thing she saw before rolling her eyes closed when George finally kissed her neck.

George inhaled the hints of floral perfume sweeping along her clavicle noting her chest felt warmer than the rest of her body. He rolled her head to expose the other side of her neck watching a vein visibly pulse in the moon’s light. For reasons he couldn’t explain, he licked her. Short strokes followed by a faint whisper of breath wherever his tongue had just been.

Rosie’s resolve faded between the warmth of the car and his cooling breath on her skin making her dizzy. She couldn’t deprive herself any longer, “Kiss me, George,” Rosie breathed to the sky, “ _Now_.”

George weakened at her plea, his hand wrapped around her chin, sweeping his thumb over her lips and felt Rosie pucker them lovingly. He made her wait through a trail of barely sown kisses from her neck to her jaw until finally his lips met hers. They were full, supple and not covered in any balm or gloss to give them an unnatural flavor. All he tasted was her tongue which slipped into his mouth coy but seeking.

Rosie sighed, an exaltation of relief at being sated at last. George’s calloused fingers still on her neck, reading the throbbing pulse at her throat and his nails scraped skin on the verge of breaking through while he nipped at and teased her mouth. The maddening mix of tenderness within the bounds of a subtle malice emboldened Rosie.

Their playful kisses gave way to base desire, tongues and teeth, crude smacks of saliva between gasps for breath, unburdened moans escaping between nervous giggles. Then George felt a familiar and intoxicating throb in the crotch of his jeans, _not now, not yet_ he thought. If he kept going, that ache would grow more insistent, refusing to be ignored and demanding attention from him and Rosie.

Without that twinge, he might have gone on all night kissing her or more, whatever she wanted but he wasn’t strong enough to keep it at bay. With an agonized lingering final peck on her parted lips, George pulled away first. Fastening the belt and settling into the seat did little to lessen that twisting thrum against his thigh but he found some comfort that he was somewhat restrained.

Rosie still leaned on the center partition, eyes closed as she swept her fingers over the remnants of a grin and licked her lips for a final taste of him. When she opened them, her hand drifted to the dashboard to turn air on at low and hit the button to defog and she sat back against her seat.

Minutes pass as the windshield cleared and her breathing slowed. On the inside is where was torn apart, frantic and keen barely holding it together. When she feels composed, Rosie checks her hair in the mirror and finds a stunned glazed look in her eye but not betraying anything more.

Rosie dared to look over at George, who sat relaxed with his elbow propped up on door lazily dragging his nails through the condensation on his window. _How could he sit there?_ Rosie wondered incredulously. Maybe he was just as torn up as she was but she couldn’t tell. It was bewildering, George staring off down the alley unbothered like he hadn't just set her on fire or made a distracting slick in her panties.

Years of practice keeping Matty in the corner of his eye during shows prepared him for this moment of watching Rosie without looking. Seeing how he affected her, the shattered breath and subtle squirming, filled George with a satisfied pride. He muffled a giggle with a cough tickled that he’d made out like some horned-up teenager leaving Rosie unbalanced.

Rosie too kept George in her field of vision when she reached for the seatbelt this second time on high alert and pricking her ears up for any shift of his body. She buckled the belt then put the car in drive. Her hands trembled reached for the steering wheel. She gripped the leather tight, uncharacteristically keeping a rigid 10 and 2. At least she had the task of paying attention to the road to keep her from looking at George for most of the drive.

At a stoplight, Rosie glowed in the red of brake lights in front of them, George couldn’t help himself. He inched over the center divider and grasped her right hand, kissing the back of it before placing it back on the wheel. A quick dose of affection before the light changed and Rosie was once again preoccupied though not without distraction as George rested his hand on her mid-thigh for the rest of the ride.

When she pulled up to the loft, George exited the car in a hurry, not trusting himself to not invite her in. or worse, stay locked inside her car all night. Let Matty or Ross or some neighbor discovering them in the backseat under the morning sun. He made the long walk up the drive almost reaching the door before he jogged back to the driver’s side, rapping on the window and pointing down so she’d lower it.

When he could clear the small window space, he leaned for with one last kiss and said, “Deal."


End file.
